Chain Reaction
by extension-cord
Summary: Against his very best judgment, Thundercracker finds himself roped into recording a snuff film. His involvement, and the decisions he makes afterward, set off a cascade of consequences he didn't expect — or want. G1, AUish. Slash, noncon, torture, character death, all-around nastiness.
1. Chapter 1

_Summary_: Against his very best judgment, Thundercracker finds himself roped into recording a snuff film. His involvement, and the decisions he makes afterward, set off a cascade of consequences he didn't expect — or want. G1, AUish. Slash, noncon, torture, character death, all-around nastiness.

_Disclaimer_: The Transformers franchise is the property of Hasbro/Takara.

_Warnings_: As the summary indicates, this story begins with a snuff film, and contains themes associated with such, namely torture, rape, character death, and general unpleasantness. **No sticky**. Solid M rating. You have been warned.

_Author's Note_: This was originally written back in 2008, and was intended to be a one-shot. Not long ago, I rediscovered this story and decided to expand upon its ideas. So, here it is.

Enjoy it, you sick fuck.

* * *

**Chain Reaction**

* * *

"D'you remember Kaon?"

"Of _course _I — " Thundercracker paused in what he was doing — filing some sort of meaningless report — and shot his wingmate a suspicious, sidelong glance. Usually, when Skywarp began a conversation in this manner, or even mentioned the bygone days of Cybertron, the blue jet considered it to be a Bad Thing. With a grunt, Thundercracker set down his datapad and swiveled his chair to face the black-and-purple seeker. "What _is_ it, Skywarp?"

The reply was a nonchalant shrug — but it was obvious that Skywarp was excited about _some_thing. There was an unmistakable gleam in his optics that only appeared when he was truly enthusiastic — usually about something unpleasant. Knowing Skywarp's thought processes and antics, it was most likely that the situation boded poorly for Thundercracker.

The seated jet frowned and crossed his arms over his pectoral vents. "Out with it. You obviously want to tell me something, Pit forbid whatever it is."

Skywarp smirked and sidled closer to his irritated wingmate. "Something Blitzwing mentioned earlier brought back a few memories — "

Already, the conversation had taken a sour turn. Thundercracker glared at the other seeker, his expression incredulous, and only managed to stammer, "_Blitzwing? _What the slag were you doing, associating with _him?_"

"I wasn't really _talking_ to him — I just kinda overheard him shooting the slag with Astrotrain." The black jet pushed aside the mess on Thundercracker's desk and seated himself down, much to his wingmate's displeasure. "Apparently, we took an Autobot prisoner."

Now _this _was slightly more interesting. "Who? Is it anyone important?"

"I didn't hear, but it's not one of their big guys. Not Prime or anyone in the chain of command, anyway." Skywarp swung his legs, trying to keep his grin at bay, then added, "And since he ain't special — and since Megatron's in a particularly bad mood today — a hostage situation is outta the question. He just wants the prisoner deactivated within a megacycle, before the rest of the Autobots realize he's gone."

"Okay, but what's this got to do with Kaon?" Thundercracker frowned, then deadpanned, "There's more, isn't there?"

Skywarp nodded. "You remember back home, during the war, how popular and profitable the deactivation holovids were?"

The blue jet narrowed his optics. "Yeah, I recall you enjoying them immensely." Then Thundercracker paused, his CPU processing what Skywarp had just mentioned, about the prisoner —

"So…"

"You want to make a _snuff film? _Skywarp, why in the _Pit _—"

"It was actually Blitzwing's idea."

"Oh, so you _were _talking to him."

"Maybe."

Thundercracker's frown deepened. Yes, he remembered the deactivation film business on Cybertron. During the war, it was an underground, black market industry that the Decepticons had started, not having any use for most of their Autobot hostages. Fellow Decepticons stationed in other bases ate them up eagerly; even the _Neutrals_ seemed to have no problem paying for the gruesome entertainment. And the _Autobots_ — while Thundercracker was certain the more twisted members of their ranks appreciated such nasty diversions — the _Autobots _often paid top price for the destruction of the films; they were stupid and honorable like that.

Skywarp grinned. "So… you interested? Blitzwing is rigging up the recording equipment in the cell as we speak."

Thundercracker's first reaction was of revulsion, but he bit it back. "I dunno, Skywarp. I was never too fond of this kind of thing, not even back in Kaon."

The black seeker laughed. "Oh, _that's _a lie! Remember that one holovid — it was a really popular one — slag, I forget who the unfortunate 'bot was. He had his circuits fried by two fliers, at the _same time_ — then he was picked apart, piece-by-piece — " Skywarp tilted his head. "C'mon, you know the one."

"That sounds like just about _all _of the snuff films we watched —"

"But you actually _liked _this one, Thundercracker! It totally got you off." Skywarp tapped the side of his helm in realization. "I remember, now! The Autobot — he was a gray groundpounder. The only survivor in his city. Put on a _real _good show."

"Oh! _Oh._" Thundercracker knew the film to which his wingmate was referring. But the Autobot — "He didn't die, you know. Still fights alongside Prime. It wasn't a _real_ deactivation. Nasty, but not _real_."

"Huh, maybe." Skywarp slid off Thundercracker's desk, then yanked the other jet to his feet. "C'mon. It could be fun. And even if you pull a Screamer and find you can't take it, aren't you at least interested to see who it is?"

Thundercracker cycled a puff of air through his vents in a sigh. "Yeah, I guess."

* * *

The Decepticon brig was located in a dark sublevel of the _Nemesis_, in a corridor sectioned off for the specific purpose of detainment, torture, and deactivation. In an effort to conserve energy, light panels were dimmed to their lowest setting, the air had nonexistent circulation, and the last time the hallway had been cleaned was anyone's guess. The Constructicons had their base of operations nearby; unwanted prisoners, more often than not, became scrap metal and Hook was always more than eager to jump on the necessary materials for a new project.

None too happily, Thundercracker followed his wingmate closely through the darkened corridor. It had been _ages _since he'd last ventured down to this particular deck of the Decepticon ship, and the jet was quickly finding that he really had no interest in repeating the experience. "You could've just teleported us here, you idiot."

Skywarp shrugged. "I could've. But you-know-who probably would've traced the energy signature."

And Thundercracker knew his trinemate was referring to Soundwave, Megatron's third in command, and he shuddered. "Yeah, okay."

"And besides," Skywarp continued, "the whole thing wouldn't be _nearly _as fun."

"You're getting off on this, aren't you?"

"I think you already know the answer to that," Skywarp purred. "Unlike _you_, I'm a Decepticon, through-and-through, and I happen to enjoy this sort of stuff."

Thundercracker shook his head in disgust. "You would."

Skywarp just snorted. The two seekers reached the door that led to the brig area, and the black jet keyed an entry request at once. There was pause, a few kliks passed, and the door panel slid aside. Skywarp strode in immediately, then waited as his wingmate followed at a more hesitant gait. They passed cell after empty cell down the grimy hallway; so unkempt was the corridor, the normally-purple sheen of the metal didn't show through. "This place has a good smell to it, huh?"

Thundercracker switched on his olfactory sensors, then grimaced. "It smells like stale energon. And fear — and death."

"As it should," Skywarp responded, sounding all-too-happy about their current situation.

Thundercracker didn't argue. Up ahead, there was a lone cell, violet energy bars crackling with charge. In the gloom, the blue seeker could see the bulk of Blitzwing; the triplechanger was fiddling with some sort of equipment, and he acknowledged the newcomers' presence with a nod before returning to the recording paraphernalia.

"Any bets on who the unfortunate Autobot is?" Skywarp sneered as they drew ever closer.

"No, and I don't care," Thundercracker retorted. "But if it's a minibot, I want nothing to do with it."

Skywarp frowned. "Well, whatever. I wager it's one of their worthless grunts. At the very least, let's hope he's easy on the eyes, huh?"

* * *

While his wingmate spoke to Blitzwing, Thundercracker regarded the Autobot prisoner carefully, with an equal amount of interest and pity. The hostage was slumped in the corner of the cell, blue optics glowing dimly — yet there was an immeasurable amount of anger and hatred burning in his feeble glare. The Autobot's weapons had been stripped; his main motor functions had likely been disconnected; his normally well-polished chassis was dented and scuffed.

Their optics met, and Sunstreaker's faceplates twisted into a hauntingly _grim _smile.

Thundercracker wrenched his gaze away, and decided he'd much rather look at _Blitzwing_. "What did you do, shake him up a bit before inviting us over?"

The larger Decepticon glanced up from his hushed conversation with Skywarp. "Nah, not intentionally. He put up a slagging good fight. All I did was cut a few relays so that he wouldn't gouge anyone's optics out in — in the middle of things."

Thundercracker grunted at this, not sure whether to be thankful, or —

He wasn't sure what to think, actually. As he'd tried, unsuccessfully, to convince Skywarp, Thundercracker never fully understood the Decepticon obsession with snuff films. Yes, killing was a function of _battle_, and it was an integral part of the war, but it wasn't a novelty to be recorded and distributed for profit. And besides, deactivation holovids, more often than not, were more than just killing — they usually included content of a more twisted, gruesome nature. A good pornography flick was one thing, but _torture _and _coercion_, as a form of entertainment was, well —

Perhaps that was why Thundercracker made such a bad Decepticon.

So lost in his thoughts, the blue seeker wasn't aware that Skywarp and Blitzwing had finished their shady dealings — until his wingmate tapped him on the shoulder. "Cybertron to Thundercracker, come in."

Thundercracker jolted then spun to face Skywarp. "What's up?"

"I've got a proposition for you," the black seeker explained, keeping his volume low. "Blitzwing's offering us a large cut of the profit, if we both agree to double-team — "

"_What?_" Thundercracker squawked. "No! Absolutely _not!_ Skywarp, I'm just not _like _that! I'm no exhibitionist — I don't — _you _can, if you want —"

Disappointment flashed over Skywarp's faceplates before he murmured, "Aww, TC. I thought you'd probably say that. You're a soft piece of slag, but I won't hold it against you."

"I should be so thankful."

"Uh-huh. Then you won't mind working the cameras while me and Blitzwing do the job, right?"

An image of his wingmate and the triplechanger violating the Autobot pinged in Thundercracker's mind, and he grimaced. "Let me get this straight — I'm going to film a forced interface —"

"And a deactivation!"

"— _and _a deactivation." Thundercracker flicked his gaze back to the captured, crumpled Autobot. How often had Sunstreaker and Sideswipe proven to be a nuisance in battle? Time and time again, the frontliner brothers had bested the Decepticons, most notably Thundercracker and his wingmates; was a little revenge so bad? Though Thundercracker liked to think himself more morally sound than his comrades, the concept of _revenge _was abstract and universal, and certainly not a _Decepticon _invention.

In the darkness, Sunstreaker's defiant smirk faltered.

"Yeah, I'm game."

* * *

In a crackle of static, the energy bars securing the cell disappeared. While his comrades crowded in to join the Autobot prisoner, Thundercracker eased himself into the chair that was stationed at a nearby control panel. Blitzwing had set up six individual cameras inside the cell; their separate recordings would be processed into a three-dimensional, holographic composite. It was Thundercracker's job to keep the lenses trained on the action, and to make sure _nothing went amiss_.

Blitzwing's instructions had been such — _if anything goes wrong, you know what to do — _but Thundercracker knew the triplechanger hadn't been referring to the cameras. Even with the Autobot functioning at only a small percentage of his capacity, it was _still _a dangerous affair, and a warrior like Sunstreaker was unlikely to give in so easily.

With a nervous sigh, Thundercracker flipped several switches, glanced at the monitor preview of the scene, and adjusted the camera lenses that were slightly misaligned. "Go at it whenever you're ready," the seeker said, trying, unsuccessfully, to sound bored.

Blitzwing and Skywarp didn't waste any time.

The Autobot's motor functions were repaired, but only enough so that he could put up some sort of resistance; it would be boring, otherwise. Blitzwing hauled the prisoner to his feet, then put him into a vicious headlock — Thundercracker could hear Sunstreaker sputtering static under the pressure of the triplechanger's forearm against his throat— then nodded, indicating he wanted Skywarp to join the fray.

Skywarp leered darkly, sauntered forward, and in a deceptively gentle gesture, caressed the side of the struggling Autobot's face, being careful not to let the prisoner bite him. Sunstreaker thrashed weakly in Blitzwing's grasp, though his vocalizer remained curiously silent, leading Thundercracker to wonder if that had been cut, as well. Skywarp brought himself closer to the prisoner, cockpit flush against the scuffed, yellow chassis, pectoral vents already humming with excitement. He murmured something — Thundercracker couldn't hear what — and a moment later, his mouth was clamped over that of the Autobot, hands scraping roughly at the prisoner's shoulder joints.

Like a cornered, caged animal, Sunstreaker _bit_; Skywarp yelped and pulled away, fluorescent energon dribbling from his ruptured lip components. "_Good, Autobot_," Thundercracker heard his wingmate hiss.

And Thundercracker knew, from millions of years of experience, that Skywarp _loved _pain. Not the life-threatening kind — because as a warrior built to _fight_, that kind of pain was _bad_ — but anything inflicted during a rough interface was fair game, and Sunstreaker had, unknowingly, just fulfilled one of Skywarp's smaller fantasies.

The blue jet watched the scene unfold, only half-paying attention. He could _wish _he was there, with Skywarp — and if he dimmed his optics _just _right, Blitzwing was no longer in the picture, and neither was Sunstreaker, and it would be just the two of them — Thundercracker and Skywarp — and there'd be no slagging war, and no slagging prisoners…

Black digits wandered down white pectoral vents, slowly traced the edge of a cockpit, worked their way down a blue thigh — in the cell, armor clanged and grinded — Skywarp was yelling degrading slurs at the prisoner, low voice rumbling with lust and amusement — and Thundercracker tilted his head back, other hand guiding itself to the cables of his neck — a soft moan escaped his lips —

A sharp cry of pain sliced through Thundercracker's fantasies, and he powered his optics back online. Sunstreaker had screamed his vocalizer back into working, and now he was hurling insult after insult at his attackers. _That _made things decidedly more interesting, and Thundercracker double-checked the microphones to be sure they were functioning properly.

The trio moved to the floor of the cell; the thrashing Autobot was flipped on his back, shoulders restrained by Skywarp while Blitzwing spread the yellow legs and hiked them up, into the air —

_Primus_, was the triplechanger rough with his prey —

The prisoner writhed pitifully as his pelvic armor was pried open. Metal was stripped and tossed aside, mangled and useless; two large digits were plunged into Sunstreaker's interface ports, curling around the delicate, sensitive circuitry, slowly tearing at the wires and sensory relays. The Autobot's screaming turned to unwanted moans of pain before being reduced to jarring static.

Thundercracker almost gagged. He forced himself to pry his optics away from Blitzwing, but focusing on Skywarp didn't alleviate his disgust. The black seeker leered over the supine form of Sunstreaker, one hand fondling the Autobot's head crests, and the other keeping a tight hold over the prisoner's neck. Skywarp grinned then leaned forward, placing mocking, feather-light kisses over the seams on the captive's face, keeping an optic on Blitzwing's violation of Sunstreaker's interface ports.

The already-stagnant air of the prison block now smelled of spilt energon and hot circuitry — it was an arousing scent — but the scene which Thundercracker found himself recording was _not. _The blue jet squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, spark still skipping from his earlier, self-inflicted ministrations — and the constant grunting and gasping of his wingmate and the tank-jet wasn't helping. He spared Blitzwing a glance and instantly regretted it; the triplechanger was mutilating the Autobot's pelvic housing — Sunstreaker wheezed with pain, bursts of static issuing from his vocalizer — and Blitzwing _smirked._

Thundercracker considered offlining his audials, but thought better of it — without his hearing, he was incredibly vulnerable, and if Starscream discovered what was going on, he would be scrapped; worse, if Soundwave or his blithering cassettes showed up… The blue jet sighed and slumped forward on the console, just wishing the whole thing could be done with already.

The kliks passed by — Thundercracker watched as the prisoner was forced into orally stimulating Skywarp's more sensitive areas — the black jet tossed his head back and made a show of moaning his wingmate's name — Blitzwing sidestepped Sunstreaker and leaned in to capture the seeker's lips in a deep, rough kiss —

— and _that _was going _way _too far. Thundercracker failed to hold in a growl. His fists clenched, and anger flooded his systems as Skywarp reciprocated the gesture.

Blitzwing returned his attention to the prisoner, plugging an interface cable into an access port in the Autobot's backside — Skywarp spread his legs wider to give the prisoner better, forced access — Sunstreaker _bled _energon.

Thundercracker folded his arms on the control panel and leaned forward, burying his face into them. Thank the_Pit_ this was almost over; Skywarp and Blitzwing, he knew, were rapidly reaching the point of overload. Sunstreaker's vocalizer fritzed back to life, and the Autobot released a long, pained moan.

That was all it took. Thundercracker heard Blitzwing hit overload first, snarling with release; he was soon followed by Skywarp. Both torturers had put up safeguards on their systems — surge protectors, in a way — as to not become completely debilitated when the electrical loop hit their internals. Offlining, in this situation, was not favorable, especially not when the film being created was intended for public viewing.

And now, Thundercracker knew, came the namesake of the film — the deactivation. He heard the click of a gun being withdrawn from subspace — heard the whine of it charging — heard the Autobot thrash in an attempt to escape — Blitzwing said something that sounded awfully derogatory — one last clatter of armor, and a gurgled "No!" from the prisoner — and then a harsh _zot_, the unmistakable discharge of the weapon.

_Silence. _

The stench of burnt metal alloy and freshly-spilt energon worked its way into Thundercracker's olfactory sensors. It took every ounce of willpower the blue jet had to keep himself from purging the liquid energy he had ingested earlier that day; to stay distracted, he pressed a button to cease the recording. In the darkness of the cell, Blitzwing and Skywarp were congratulating one another; the triplechanger brushed the stray droplets of energon from his front while the black seeker investigated the new dings and scuffs on his armor.

"Nice show you put on there, Skywarp."

"Yeah? I've had a little bit of practice. You weren't bad yourself. Can't wait to see the film!"

"Same here, it should be a good one. It'll take me a while to get all the tapes compiled and synched with the sound, and then I'll start distribution, when I have time."

"What do we do with _that?_"

"I'll let Hook know about it eventually. I'm sure he'll put it to good use."

_It. _Thundercracker found himself growing sicker by the nanoklik and, no longer capable of listening to the casual, careless banter between his wingmate and the triplechanger, the blue jet rose to his feet and promptly left_. _Thundercracker ignored their bewildered glances and shuffled down the dark corridor of the Decepticon brig, starting the long walk back to his quarters. For some reason, for some strange and inexplicable reason, the seeker felt incredibly dirty. All he'd done was monitor the cameras — but in doing so, he had _allowed _everything to happen. The rape, the torture, the _murder_ — it was spilt energon on _his _hands, and Thundercracker was just as guilty as Skywarp and Blitzwing, even if he hadn't laid a finger on the prisoner. In fact, his involvement insured the film would be processed and distributed and _seen._

Whether or not Thundercracker was fully committed to the Decepticon cause didn't matter. What had transpired was disgusting and horrible and had no place in war — not even with their sworn enemies. No one deserved _that_, not even the Autobot who had seemed so Pit-bent on antagonizing Thundercracker and his wingmates.

Upon reaching his quarters, the blue jet sat on the edge of his berth, his systems feeling like cold stone. Why hadn't he stolen or erased the video recordings when he'd had the chance? It was far too late now; there was little doubt Blitzwing had already gathered them and started to compile their data. There _was _one thing Thundercracker could still do, however. He rallied his thoughts, then started a scan of his archived radio frequencies. Oh, Skywarp would hate him for this, and Hook would likely be sour about having his latest materials stripped before he could even put them to use — but this was something Thundercracker felt _obligated _to do. He continued to skip through his directory of wavelengths. Some were encrypted, others open; most were Decepticon frequencies, but every so often an Autobot's signal appeared. And —

_There_. Thundercracker paused on the wavelength, then, heaving a sigh through his vents, sent the recipient a short encrypted message, accompanied with a time and a set of coordinates.

_**I have something that belongs to you, Sideswipe.**_

* * *

_Author's Note_: To be continued.


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer_: The Transformers franchise is the property of Hasbro/Takara.

_Warnings_: Nothing too objectionable in this chapter.

_Author's Note_: This is chapter two of five, and is considerably longer. Hopefully none of it bores the reader…

* * *

"You did _WHAT?_"

"Skywarp, hear me out —"

"Hook is gonna be _pissed_."

"Wait — stop. Just _stop_." Thundercracker grabbed his trinemate by the arm, and Skywarp spun around to face him. "Before we go back — I can explain."

"The Pit you can." And Thundercracker, still grasping to the other jet, found the world around him collapse and dissolve in a flash of searing purple. It was a horrible, hollow feeling — the splicing of molecules in space and time — and Thundercracker, even after eons of teleporting with his wingmate, could still hardly stand the sensation.

But it was over before it even began, and the blue jet found himself in their shared quarters, still gripping tightly to Skywarp's arm.

"Oh."

Thundercracker followed Skywarp's line of gaze, where his optics had settled on the ruined, empty carcass of the tortured, raped, and deactivated Sunstreaker.

"_Oh_," Skywarp repeated.

"I need your help," Thundercracker said quickly, before his trinemate could get in another word. "I need to get him _out _of here."

Skywarp scowled, then wrenched himself from Thundercracker's grasp. "Why is that _here? _How did you even _get _that up here without anyone noticing?"

"Very carefully!" Thundercracker hissed — which was the truth. Moving the body from one end of the _Nemesis _to the other had been a challenging, stealthy task, and if he _had _been spotted by one of Soundwave's cassettes, nothing had come of it — yet.

Predictably, Skywarp was still very displeased, and for a moment, the black jet was at a loss for words. Finally, "Why the frag are you doing this, TC?"

Thundercracker's frown deepened. He wasn't so sure he knew why, either, and that bothered him. Not knowing what else to say, he muttered, "Because it's the right thing to do."

"Oh, aren't _you_ noble!" Skywarp snarled. "Why don't you go off and join the slagging _Autobots_ while you're at it? I'm sure they'd just _love _to accept you into their ranks, the moment they see you carrying _that_."

But Thundercracker was undeterred by his wingmate's ire. "That's not going to happen, and you know it. All I'm asking is for your help in transporting him — "

"So you want to get _me _involved? _Wonderful_." Skywarp circled the blue jet, his vents humming loudly with irritation. "Do you think by _returning _him, that'll somehow _undo_ your part in making that holovid? Is _that _why you're doing this?"

Thundercracker shook his head. "No, that's not it at all!" He glanced away from the angry jet, and for a fraction of a nanoklik, his gaze settled on the deactivated Autobot prisoner. The corpse was propped up against the wall, head lolled to one side, optics dark, limbs lifeless, and lip components torn, still stuck in a final snarl of pain and rage. The sight reminded Thundercracker of _something_, something that he had seen long ago, millions of Earth years earlier. What _was_ —

"You really think they'd _want _him back, lookin' like that?" Skywarp's question tore through Thundercracker's thoughts. "I mean, it's obvious what happened."

"Well, maybe you should've thought about that _first_, before you and Blitzwing went and —"

"And maybe _you _shouldn't act like a fragging _Autobot_!" Those words, combined with the sight of the deactivated Sunstreaker, finally brought back the memory which Thundercracker had been trying so hard to grasp. The blue jet felt a fleeting expression of shock and realization dance over his faceplates, and he fought to suppress it — but it was too late, because Skywarp had caught the minute change in his demeanor. "What _is _it?"

"Nothing," Thundercracker snapped.

"The Pit it is," Skywarp retorted. "You got _feelings _for this pile of scrap metal, TC?"

"Of _course_ not!"

"You're lying," the black jet said loftily. "And you ain't nearly this cagey about most things, so here's the deal: I'll help you transport this heap of junk to wherever you want to take it, on the condition you spill the energon on whatever sentimental slag is clogging up your systems."

Thundercracker wished it hadn't come to this. He stole another glance at the Autobot, then returned his optics to his wingmate. "You promise?"

"Yep."

"Alright, then. Deal." Thundercracker took a seat, legs crossed and feet propped up on his desk. He hesitated, then said, "You should probably sit down, too."

"Is it _that _bad?"

"No, it's just a long story," the blue seeker grumbled. "It's old history — and I do mean _old_. Goes back to Kaon."

The mention of the dead city seemed to rouse Skywarp's interest, and, his optics not leaving his wingmate, he took a seat on the edge of Thundercracker's berth. "You weren't kidding."

"Back when the war first started, not long after we enlisted — I saw _him_, nanokliks away from shooting himself."

"Well, he shoulda done it back then," Skywarp scoffed. "Woulda saved us all this —"

"Shut _up_," Thundercracker growled. "He didn't deactivate himself, obviously. Not that I stopped him from doing it, either. I left him."

"Is that it?"

Thundercracker shot his trinemate a withering glare. "No! Let me _finish_. I don't know how much time passed. Don't remember. But I saw him again, in Kaon. And again. And _again._"

"_Wait_ a klik," Skywarp said, his voice triumphant. "Holy — I remember this. I remem — I remember you leaving base all the time!"

"Yeah, well, this was why," Thundercracker grunted. "He was kind of like a drinking buddy. We commiserated about our respective sides — or so I _thought_. He was kind of undercover. It turns out he was _working _in Kaon, for the Autobots. He wasn't there by chance, as I had assumed."

"Were you and him fragging?"

The blue jet sneered. "Shut _up_. I'm _getting _to that part — "

"So you were!"

Thundercracker swiveled himself away from his desk and cuffed his wingmate against the helm. "Switch off your vocalizer! Right up until our forces took Kaon, all we did was go to the bars. I think we might have watched a gladiator match, once, but —"

"And you didn't invite me along?!"

"It wasn't planned!" Thundercracker snapped.

"I bet fragging him wasn't, either!"

"It wasn't! Skywarp, do not repeat this to _anyone_. If word gets out I will not hesitate to tear the spark from your body and shove it down your throat."

A noticeable shiver rippled over the black jet's frame. "You got my word."

"That's not much, but alright." Thundercracker sighed a puff of air through his shoulder vents, then said, "The last time I saw him in Kaon, we chatted. No cruddy mid-grade, not that time. He revealed to me that he worked there. Oversaw prisoners. Used _unsavory tactics_ to pry information."

"Fragger," Skywarp hissed. "What did he want to be, a _Decepticon_?"

"Nope," said Thundercracker. "I asked him about it, too. Did his superiors approve of his methods? Did they _know?_ They did, he said, and they didn't care. _Kaon's the worst place on the planet_, he said. _Anything goes_. And then something came over him and — and me. It all went downhill. And he just — "

The black jet could no longer contain himself. Skywarp's cackle filled their quarters; in his glee he pounded his fist on the berth, denting it, until finally he managed, "You got screwed by an Autobot groundpounder! And now you want to _return _his worthless carcass? You're so slagging soft, TC."

Thundercracker didn't reply. From his wingmate's perspective, it really was an absurd thing — and he understood that. But there was _something _compelling Thundercracker's actions, some strange sort of moral _right_ — not tied in any way to his past — and he couldn't purge it from his processor. Finally, "So that's that. It happened once. We parted ways. The war _really _got going. And I forgot about it, obviously."

"Was it _hot?_" Skywarp asked with a leer, and much to Thundercracker's discomfort, the black jet was suddenly much nearer.

"I don't — I don't remember," was the stammered half-lie.

"_Sure_ you don't," Skywarp purred, edging closer to his blue wingmate. "How about we _jog _those memory chips?"

Another nervous glance to the deactivated Autobot, then back to Skywarp, and Thundercracker frowned. The holovid had been completed only a few cycles earlier, and — "You still _smell _like him."

Skywarp sniffed his own forearm — the black armor was marred by new scratches and dents, tinged with unmistakably yellow paint and dried spatters of energon — and he grinned. "Yeah, I guess I do. But you _like_ that, don't you, TC?"

Thundercracker grimaced. "Not particularly."

"You are a _horrible_ Decepticon."

"Thanks for the reminder." The blue jet checked his chronometer, then the work schedule that was in store for him in the following megacycle. Inwardly, he cursed. "Skywarp, for the love of Primus, I have monitor duty in ten cycles, and I need to get _him _—" Thundercracker flung his pointed finger toward the deactivated Autobot, "— _out_ of here before then!" Unspoken was the specific time that he had sent to Sideswipe.

"Alright, alright," Skywarp grumbled, and he stepped back from his wingmate, "but you _owe_ me."

That wasn't the case, Thundercracker knew, but he acknowledged it wasn't wise for him to press the matter. Retreating from his desk, the blue seeker crossed the room and hauled the expired prisoner into his arms.

Dead weight was a funny, morbid thing. Thundercracker had plenty of experience with it in the course of this endless war, and while the metal corpse was heavy and unresisting, it was also very light — hollow, with its extinguished spark and nonfunctional processor. Despite having seen it time and time again, there was no denying that death was a disturbing phenomenon.

"Alright, get us out of this dump."

Skywarp obliged: none too gently, he seized Thundercracker's shoulder vent, and a nanoklik later, the walls of their quarters dissolved around them in a blaze of purple.

* * *

When Thundercracker rebooted his optics, he was in free-fall, several kilometers above the Pacific Ocean. It didn't concern him, and he let himself plummet toward the water, Sunstreaker's body still tight in his grasp. Times like these were one of the best things about being a seeker, and Thundercracker relished every moment he spent in the air. The ability to fly — to engage his thrusters in half a nanoklik — to feel the scrape of the atmosphere across his fuselage — was a wonderful, satisfying thing. Being holed up underwater in the sunken _Nemesis_ wasn't pleasant _or _healthy, and now, as he dropped, his velocity exponentially increasing, Thundercracker thrilled in the sensation.

When his altitude was less than three hundred meters above sea level, Thundercracker ignited his thrusters. His bipedal form wasn't nearly as aerodynamic as his F-15 altmode, and the task wasn't made any easier by the deactivated Autobot. Still, it was of no concern; he was _built_ to fly, and as he soared skyward, Thundercracker was intercepted by his wingmate. The blue jet slowed, stabilized himself, and for a moment, the two seekers hovered in the clouds, optics locked on one another.

"You didn't give me any coordinates," Skywarp said.

"I know. It's not far. Four hundred kilometers away. No big deal." Thundercracker adjusted his grip on the dead prisoner, then added, "I can take it from here."

"Should I wait for you?"

"Nope," Thundercracker replied bluntly. Without another word, he turned and engaged his thrusters, leaving an audial-splitting sonic boom in his wake. Again, the blue jet let himself fall; he careened downward until he could see the white spray of the ocean waves, and it was only until he could _feel _that spray against his wings did he blast upward once more. The whole thing would be far more enjoyable without the dead weight in his arms, and Thundercracker decided to just _get this over with already_. The time for his rendezvous with Sideswipe was drawing ever-nearer, and the seeker set his course for the mainland. Thundercracker knew, for safety's sake, that he would have to arrive at least a cycle before the Autobot.

As the Decepticon skimmed over the navy-blue of the ocean waves, a band of green appeared on the very edge of the horizon.

* * *

The coordinates Thundercracker had sent to the red Lamborghini rested in the middle of Washington's Olympic Peninsula. The location was remote: far from the Autobot base, and kilometers away from any major human cities or tourist attractions, it lay in the forested foothills west of Mount Olympus.

And now, as Thundercracker hovered five kilometers above his coordinate set, he debated what to do next. He could drop the deactivated body, then and there, and leave — that was the safest route, he knew. Sunstreaker was dead, anyway; a five-kilometer fall wasn't going to make him fare any worse. But the nagging voice inside Thundercracker's processor told him _not _to go about this method of return. _Touch down_, it told him. _Wait for Sideswipe to retrieve the body._

The truth was that Thundercracker _hadn't _heard back from the red twin. His message had been received — that much he did know — but whether or not Sideswipe would act was an entirely different matter. Or — even more dangerously — if the red Autobot would arrive _alone_.

Silencers engaged, Thundercracker descended from the clouds. Below him was a patchwork of green valleys and white, snow-covered mountain ridges, intersected with meandering rivers and winding human roads. _The pitiful mudball of a planet can be beautiful after all_, Thundercracker admitted to himself. His altitude dropped and dropped and _dropped_. Now was not the time for sonic booms or the roaring of jet engines: stealth was instrumental to leaving the deactivated prisoner and then getting the _slag _out of there.

At six hundred meters above the mountaintops, Thundercracker ran his scanner, searching for any Autobot signals. There was _one_, and its frequency matched that of Sideswipe — but it was a distant ping, registering nearly fifty kilometers away. The red Autobot was coming — and he was alone. Less than a three hundred meters above his coordinate set, Thundercracker engaged his secondary thrusters to ease himself the rest of the way down. Not wanting to flatten stands of trees, he aimed his trajectory for the very middle of a slow, wide river that ran its way through the valley below.

* * *

The landing was wetter and louder than Thundercracker had planned.

He left the body of Sunstreaker at the edge of the still-churning water, the Autobot's bright-yellow armor strange and inorganic in his surroundings. Thundercracker, too, felt out of place. He shot upwards, then landed on a rocky precipice that overlooked the valley — hopefully, he worried, the scattered Ponderosa pines would keep him out of sight from any human tourist viewing platforms, as well as from the approaching Sideswipe. Now it was a waiting game, and Thundercracker was all too happy to oblige.

The kliks passed by. Travel by land was far slower than by air; the groundpounder Autobots were at the mercy of Earth's geological features and human roads. It was pathetic, in a way, and yet again, Thundercracker thanked Primus for being given the ability to fly. The thought of an existence bound to the ground was truly terrifying — the mere idea made Thundercracker uncomfortable in ways he couldn't quite explain. He shifted his position, and surveyed the valley below.

The Autobot's signal was nearer. From the air, Sideswipe was less than twenty kilometers away from the coordinate set — but when restricted to human roads, chances were his distance was even further. Thundercracker brought up a digital map of the area, located several two-track paths that led to the valley, then calculated it would still be another half-cycle before Sideswipe arrived. Taking on the form of a fast luxury sports car had its advantages, but certainly not on rough terrain.

Thundercracker waited. He wondered, idly, what would happen from here. It wouldn't be hard for Sideswipe — or the rest of the Autobots, really — to realize what had happened to Sunstreaker. Would they retaliate? And it was only a matter of time before slagging _Blitzwing_ finished compiling those accursed camera feeds and began distributing the video. Thundercracker doubted it would take long for the snuff film to reach the _Ark_. What then?

The blue jet continued his vigil from the rocky escarpment. Overhead, an Earth creature circled, and Thundercracker watched it curiously. With its outstretched wings, it was reminiscent of Soundwave's cassette Laserbeak, but this being needed no jet propulsion to fly. The Decepticon chuckled to himself, amused by the fact that a primitive life-form on Earth had mastered flight, while much of the Autobot force had not.

The roar of an engine cut short any future bird watching. Thundercracker returned his gaze to the valley below and there, emerging from the treeline, was a bright-red Lamborghini Countach. Its tires fared poorly on the rocky terrain — and Sideswipe must have realized this, because an instant later, he transformed, blaster pulled from subspace. His footfalls echoed loudly through the basin as he ran toward the crumpled form of his deactivated brother.

Thundercracker realized that he should have left, long ago. He should have left the moment he placed the body beside the river, or the moment he detected Sideswipe's approaching signal. But he hadn't, and now, there he was, forced to bear witness to their reunion.

There was a ghastly, tense silence as Sideswipe circled the body of his brother, and then, as he fell down beside the battered corpse, a strangled cry rose from the valley below. It was a horrible sound — full of rage and hatred and anguish — and Thundercracker felt his fuel tank lurch.

_I need to leave_, the Decepticon told himself. _I shouldn't be here_. Ninety meters below, Sideswipe had rolled his twin's body over, and his grief resounded louder than ever. The blue jet was already feeling nauseous, but now a prickle of panic was starting to pull at his systems. If he left now, he would be spotted, and probably shot — but how long could he stay? Sideswipe would likely radio back to the _Ark _for help, and Thundercracker didn't want to hang around for that, either. It was one of the rare, maddening times that he wished he possessed his trinemate's warping ability.

Time passed. Sideswipe was still at his dead brother's side, having not moved for nearly a half-cycle; Thundercracker checked his chronometer and nearly cursed out loud. His assigned monitor duty was rapidly approaching, and he was beginning to wish he hadn't been so cold to Skywarp earlier, after they'd teleported outside the _Nemesis_. Was it worth it to radio his wingmate and attempt to ask him to cover his shift? Thundercracker scanned the airwaves; there was no sign of any communication between Sideswipe and Teletraan-1, nor any of the other Autobots. How long would he _stay _there?

With every passing klik, the situation became more and more uncomfortable, and there was no end in sight to Sideswipe's silent vigil beside his fallen brother. Thundercracker wondered what it was like to lose a spark-twin, to feel that presence fade away slowly — or, in Sunstreaker's case, to feel it extinguished in an instant. Did it hurt? Had Sideswipe sensed every bit of torture inflicted upon Sunstreaker? Or had they been distant, unaware of pain brought upon the other?

Thundercracker decided it was high time to radio Skywarp with an update of his situation.

**_What's your position?_**

**_Back on the _****Nemesis, ****_watching movies with Thrust,_** was Skywarp's irritated reply.

At this news, Thundercracker blanched. **_I don't need to know any more. Look, there's a problem —_**

**_What's taking you so long, eh, TC?_**

**_This isn't going as planned. The Autobot located the body, and now he won't leave. I'm stuck here until then._**

Through their shared signal, Thundercracker heard his wingmate laugh. **_Sounds awkward! Do you need me to teleport out there and save your sorry aft?_**

It was an idea, but Thundercracker dismissed it with a curse. **_Negative. He can't know who's responsible for dropping off the body. I don't know when I'll be able to leave. Take over my shift, will you? Starscream will have my aft if I don't show up._**

There was a heavy pause — Skywarp was probably checking his own chronometer and work schedule. Finally, **_Bad news, TC. I've got patrol duty with Screamer at the same time. Ask someone else!_**

The blue jet swore again and terminated the transmission. Who was next in line? Thundercracker was getting desperate, and mentally he leafed through his various Decepticon frequencies, until he reached a much-loathed recipient. **_I've got a favor to ask of you, Blitzwing._**

Another wait, and Thundercracker cycled an impatient sigh through his vents. Why in the Pit had he thought this would be a good idea? At last, the triplechanger responded. **_What now?_**

**_I have monitor duty in three cycles. Can you cover it for me?_**

**_Sure, _**was the smarmy reply, **_but it's gonna cost you._**

Enraged, Thundercracker cursed even louder. **_How the frag can you even _****say ****_that? I recorded your Pit-spawned holovid and now you're demanding —_**

But the blue jet didn't finish his tirade: the muzzle of a blaster clinked against the back of his helm. "Think fast, fucker."

* * *

When he came back online, Thundercracker found his vision obstructed and his head flaring with the ache left by a low-powered laserblast. He soon discovered he was lying face-down on the earth, and with a grunt, tried to push himself up — it was no good. The jet cursed, suddenly terrified by the prospect that he was grounded and immobile, and he turned his head in an attempt to discern his surroundings.

He was met by the blank, dead stare of Sunstreaker.

Thundercracker yelped, then thrashed, trying to throw off whatever weight was pinning him down. With each movement, his sensitive wings blazed with pain, and finally, the Decepticon stilled. How had he let this happen?

"You're awake." The words belonged to Sideswipe, but Thundercracker couldn't see him and in panic, he began to flail once more. The sound of mechanical footfalls thumped closer, and the Autobot added, voice deadly and laced with hatred, "Now you can watch me tear the spark from your body."

Warnings flashed through Thundercracker's vision, and in his distress, his voice jumped an octave higher. "I didn't do it!_ I_ _didn't do it!_"

"Bullshit," said Sideswipe. The Autobot seemed to have a propensity for Earth expletives, and it only made him more terrifying. Out of nowhere, a kick was delivered to Thundercracker's midsection; he gasped and writhed, realizing, with mounting fear, that his weapons were no longer attached to his arms. Another kick — the seeker felt something _crunch _within him — and Sideswipe spat, "_You_ didn't do it? You fucking _brought_ him here! What did you _do _to him?!"

"Nothing!" Thundercracker snarled, vents now heaving wildly. Another kick, a deeper crunch, more warnings flashing in his visual peripheries. "I didn't — do — _anything_!"

"You've got one klik."

Thundercracker knew he wasn't in a position to bargain, but he decided to press his luck. "Take the weight off my wings."

"Nope. You've got half a klik left."

Now was not the time to mince words. "He was tortured and deactivated by two of my comrades," Thundercracker hissed. "He would've been spare parts if I hadn't returned him!"

"That's a rather _noble_ action for a _Decepticon_," Sideswipe growled, and Thundercracker could hear the Autobot circling him — and the whine of a charged blaster. Irritatingly, the groundpounder's words sounded an awful lot like Skywarp's. "And so — so, what, you just thought you'd drop him off? Just like that? No harm done?"

"I thought it was the right thing to do!"

"How fucking honorable!"

Thundercracker braced himself — for another kick, for a laserblast to his head — but it didn't happen. He could feel Sideswipe's electromagnetic field as he drew closer and knelt down alongside him. And then Thundercracker felt the Autobot's hands on his fuselage — he tore open _something_ on the Decepticon's torso — and Thundercracker, the holovid still fresh in his mind, _thrashed_.

"Stop moving!" Sideswipe barked. "I'm disconnecting your flight function. _Stop — _fucking — _flailing!_" Thundercracker bucked again, the threat of being tied to the ground more than a little alarming — but the weights on his wings, whatever the slag they were, seemed heavier than ever. He could feel the metal of his frame creak in pained protest, and finally, he stilled. Sideswipe resumed his work. There was a prickle of static, then the familiar, distressing sensation of his flight relays shutting down; Sideswipe moved away — and the Decepticon was about to protest — but then one wing was freed, followed by the other. "Sit up," was the command.

With a hiss of pain, Thundercracker pushed himself into a seated position — mere feet away was the sprawled body of Sunstreaker, as well as two chunks of rock, each the size of a car. Sideswipe was there, too, and his blaster was leveled at the Decepticon's face. Thundercracker flinched away from the firearm, then cast a sidelong glance to his dented, crumpled wings. "What the frag did you _do_ to me?!"

The stock of the gun collided with the seeker's helm. "What did _you_ do to _him?_"

"Lay off!" Thundercracker snarled, agonizing hurt still searing the sensitive plating of his wings. He couldn't stand up — not yet — and still the Autobot towered over him, threatening to pistol whip his head again.

"My brother is _dead_," Sideswipe hissed. "Tell me — what — _happened._"

_You don't want to know_, Thundercracker thought. "I told you. He was tortured and killed onboard the _Nemesis_."

The red Autobot sneered. "And I suppose _your_ version of torture includes a _forced interface?_" Thundercracker bit back a frown, but Sideswipe continued, "I'm not _stupid_, Decepticon."

Thundercracker pushed a nervous sigh through his vents. He looked away from Sideswipe, his gaze stopping to rest on Sunstreaker's empty hull. "You are correct."

A strange silence overcame the Autobot. It made Thundercracker uneasy; he wasn't used to silent rage or silent sadness. In the Decepticon ranks, silence was considered a weakness, unheard of, and this — this was unnerving and unpredictable. Sideswipe paced, optics not leaving the downed seeker, blaster leveled at his captive. At last, the Autobot spoke, and his words were shockingly quiet. "What did he do to deserve it?"

"Nothing," was Thundercracker's immediate reply — and he was surprised to hear the word leave his mouth. "He was taken prisoner less than a megacycle ago. Megatron had no use for him. He wanted him gone."

"Who the _fuck _did this?"

The Decepticon hesitated, and then the muzzle of Sideswipe's gun was flush against his helm once again. Thundercracker's spark raced, and finally, he said, "One of the triplechangers."

"Not good enough. _Who — did — this?_" Sideswipe's words were spoken acid.

There was no point in lying — not when there was a gun pointed to his head. Thundercracker met optics with the Autobot and murmured, "Blitzwing."

The blaster was lowered, and Sideswipe resumed his pacing. "_And?_ You said _two _tortured him."

After a long pause, Thundercracker grated, "My wingmate."

"_Which one?_"

"Skywarp."

Sideswipe's next question caught the Decepticon off-guard. "Did he fight back?"

Thundercracker frowned, and his thoughts returned to the ghastly scene he'd witnessed — and recorded — in the cell. _Had_ Sunstreaker fought back? Well, yes, as much as he _could _have, considering his motor relays had been almost entirely cut — that much was certain. Thundercracker nodded in the affirmative.

"You saw it happen." It wasn't a question, and Thundercracker's silence only confirmed the statement. "You _saw it happen_ and you didn't do a fucking thing!"

"I'm a slagging _Decepticon!_" Thundercracker snarled in retort. "I'm not going to risk my aft against a _triplechanger!_ And don't for one nanoklik fool yourself into thinking that you'd act any differently, either!"

Sideswipe seemed to consider this for a long while. "You remind me of him," he said at last, his voice grave.

Thundercracker wasn't sure how to interpret this information. It didn't sound much like a compliment. He suddenly remembered something Sunstreaker had told him, millions and millions and _millions_ of years earlier — about being dragged into the Autobot faction by his brother — about Sideswipe's love for heroic slag — about hating the drama in the Autobot ranks. Thundercracker recoiled, still unable to stand, and he heard himself apologize. "Sorry."

"Save it," said Sideswipe. "My brother had a tortured existence. He — he was uncontrollable. For him, the line between right and wrong was blurred. He was _sick_."

"I know," Thundercracker grumbled. Immediately, he regretted it.

"_You _know?" The gun was pressed to his head again, but the seeker had lost the will to care. "_You know? _Was he tortured for _information? _What did he _tell _you? Did you hear him _scream?_"

The blue jet shook his head. "No. He wasn't tortured for information," and then he followed up with the lie, "He did not give us the — the satisfaction of screaming."

"That was his line of work."

Thundercracker decided it was best to play dumb — for now. "Where, here? Onboard the _Ark_?"

"No, dipshit," growled Sideswipe. "Not _here_. D'you think _Prime_ would stand for that? Absolutely _not_. I'm talking _Kaon_. That was his _specialty_."

"Oh."

"You're lucky I'm not _him_," the Autobot frontliner continued, "or you'd be in a far stickier situation right about now."

Thundercracker scowled. "Look, I'm sorry about what happened to your comrade. But I'm only the _messenger_, alright? You can blast my buddies next time you see them in battle. Let me leave."

"I don't think so," Sideswipe retorted. "We're not done here. There are _tapes_, and I _want them_."

"W-_what?_"

"You heard me," the Autobot said, and now his voice had a deadly urgency to it that Thundercracker didn't like one bit. "There's a recording. _Give it to me._"

"What makes you think that?" Thundercracker asked, trying his best to keep fear from showing in his optics.

"Because your kind _profits _off of death and forced interfaces!" Sideswipe snarled in return. "Do you really believe that I haven't _seen _the torture holovids before? My brother _loved _them and I've had the displeasure of watching a few myself!"

"Then it's fitting," Thundercracker spat, "that your brother will be remembered across the galaxy as the Autobot who took it from a _triplechanger_ and moaned when he hit overload!"

From the murderous look on the other's faceplates, Thundercracker knew he had taken one step too far. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't blow your fucking head off."

It was time to think fast. "I can get you the video. Before it's distributed."

"Uh-huh."

"I _can!_" Thundercracker hissed. "But time is _of the essence!_" In truth, the seeker wasn't even sure of the film's status — for all he knew, Blitzwing was selling it at that very moment. But Sideswipe didn't need to know that. "You have to let me go. I can get it to you, but with every passing nanoklik, that window of opportunity closes ever tighter."

Sideswipe said nothing and lowered his blaster a fraction of a centimeter — it was an infinitesimal movement, but Thundercracker knew he'd won this round.

"Grieve for the dead," Thundercracker pressed, "and let me go. I will find that video, and I will get it to you — but you need to _let me go_."

"Fine," Sideswipe grated at last, and at that one word, Thundercracker felt relief wash over his spark. "But on a set of_ conditions_."

The comfort was short-lived. "Name them, but _hurry_."

Sideswipe resumed his predatory circle of the Decepticon. "You will keep your radio frequency open to me. You will keep me updated. You will not _watch _the holovid. You will not make _copies _of the holovid. _You will not_ _destroy the holovid yourself_. When you acquire it, we will reconvene here. If you back out of this — if you fail to deliver — I will hunt you down myself and you will suffer a far worse fate than Sunstreaker."

A shudder ripped through Thundercracker's frame. "Deal."

Sideswipe nodded, gun still trained on the seeker's head as he stepped behind him. "I'll reconnect your flight functions. Hold still."

"I'll be lucky to get off the ground, with the state my wings are in."

"Tough shit," said Sideswipe. "You better _pray to Primus_ you can fly. I'm not taking prisoners." He continued to fiddle with the panel on Thundercracker's waist — there was a jolt of electricity, the whine of motors, and the Decepticon felt power slowly trickle back to his thrusters. The console was snapped back shut, and Sideswipe's fingers were replaced with the muzzle of his blaster. "Get the _fuck _out of here."

Thundercracker didn't need to be told twice. With a roar, he engaged his engine, shooting skyward and transforming almost immediately into his F-15 form. The process hurt horribly; the atmosphere grated on his wings, and his equilibrium still reeled from Sideswipe's initial attack. It didn't matter: he could fly, and that's what was important. As he hurdled away from the Olympic Peninsula toward the open water of the Pacific Ocean, Thundercracker shot his wingmate a short message.

**_Skywarp, we've got a situation._**

* * *

_Author's Note: _To be continued. Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer_: The Transformers franchise is the property of Hasbro/Takara.

_Warnings_: Interactions of dubious consent.

_Author's Note_: This is chapter three of five. A big thanks to those who have sent reviews!

* * *

"Monitor duty with a geek like you — I don't know _what _Megatron was thinkin'."

Thundercracker had to agree. Megatron, for reasons unknown, had placed the seeker on a shift with _Rumble_, of all the 'cons on the _Nemesis_, and it was _maddening. _The blue jet had been lucky to reach the sunken Decepticon ship a full cycle before the start of his assigned shift — but had he known it would be shared with the diminutive, loudmouthed cassette, Thundercracker might have reconsidered the urgency of his return.

Leaning back in his chair with one leg crossed over the other, Thundercracker attempted to look bored; as usual, the wall of closed-circuit monitors before him showed nothing out of the ordinary. But the calm façade was far from the truth — Thundercracker was terrified. Blitzwing had yet to copy or distribute the holovid: that much Thundercracker knew, thanks to some covert, undercover questioning from Skywarp (who, understandably, wasn't too pleased about the current state of affairs). But the film had been compiled — all six camera angles, accompanied by sound — and now everything hinged on whenever Blitzwing felt compelled to finish the slagging thing. It was nerve-wracking, and Thundercracker needed some form of distraction.

Luckily for the seeker, there was Rumble. "And what the frag happened to your wings? You and Skywarp get in another fight, or what?"

Thundercracker resisted the urge to cuff the much-smaller Decepticon. "No, and maybe you should mind your own business!"

"That ain't healthy! Better have that creepy Constructicon look 'em over."

"Mention my wings again and I'll send you to Hook as spare parts!"

As always, it was an empty threat. The Decepticon ranks were a violent place, for sure — but there was an unspoken rule onboard the _Nemesis _that Soundwave's cassettes were off-limits. Aside from their sneaky behavior, Laserbeak, Buzzsaw, and Ravage were mostly benign — but Rumble and Frenzy took advantage of this untouchable status and milked it to its fullest potential. Thundercracker had an inkling that the twin cassettes were subject to far stricter treatment in Soundwave's care, which would explain the chaos they had the tendency to create when out of their maker's sight.

"— are you even _listenin'_ to me?"

Apparently, Rumble had been speaking. The jet had heard nothing of it, but thinking about the cassette's comrades got Thundercracker's processor turning. "No, but I have a proposition for you."

"A propo — a what?"

"Never mind," said Thundercracker. "Which of you cassettes is the sneakiest?"

Rumble mulled it over. "Buzzsaw's the sneakiest, but _she's_ on Cybertron with Ratbat."

"Okay, then that leaves who? Laserbeak?"

"Or Ravage," said Rumble. "They're equally sneaky. But Laserbeak's a sassy little scrap pile, too."

Thundercracker considered this information. He hadn't even been _aware _that Buzzsaw _identified_ as female in the first place, nor had he known the animal-form cassettes had the capacity for sass. Perhaps their combined emotional capability compensated for Soundwave's complete lack of it. "Who's easier to work with?"

"They're both disgustingly loyal, if that's what you're askin'."

"Negative," said Thundercracker. "Let's just say — if I wanted one of them to complete a favor for me, a sneaky one — who should I choose?"

Rumble smirked. "This is soundin' really shady, TC!"

"I need someone to execute a heist," Thundercracker elaborated. "That's all."

"Where?"

"Here, onboard the _Nemesis_."

"Then Ravage," Rumble offered. "She's been in a _mood_ lately. Says the boss has been neglectin' her."

"Think she'll be game?"

"I don't know," the cassette said, his voice laced with suspicion. "Who're you gonna be _stealin' _from?"

There was no point in lying — Thundercracker was quite certain the triplechangers were universally hated onboard the Decepticon ship, especially by 'cons of smaller stature. "Blitzwing."

Rumble crossed his arms over his chest, red visor turning back toward the wall of monitors. "And the thing you want swiped _is?_"

"You're asking too many questions!" was the growled response.

"Hey, when it concerns one of my brothers, it concerns _me_."

Thundercracker allowed himself to smirk, both at the cassette's failure to grasp gendered nouns, but also at his dedication. "Alright. Get me Ravage, and I'll let you in on it, too. Maybe you can be of some help."

* * *

A cycle after completing their shift, Thundercracker reconvened with Rumble — along with Skywarp and Ravage — in the seekers' shared quarters. It didn't take long for Thundercracker to learn that it wasn't wise to talk down to Ravage. The animal-form cassette was not a child, nor was she an automaton — Ravage was incredibly smart and cunning, and, in the surprise of the meta-cycle, Thundercracker discovered that she could _talk_.

It was just Thundercracker's luck that Ravage was also a typical Decepticon.

"What's in it for _me?_" the cassette panther hissed. "I don't work for free."

"I don't know yet," the blue jet admitted. "All I know is that it needs to be done _now_. Then we can work out the specifics."

"It's a poor plan," Ravage rasped. The small 'con paced, then met optics with Rumble; for a klik, the cassettes seemed to exchange words in a private conversation, and then she returned her attention to Thundercracker. "Do you not _understand_ how thievery works? This isn't a simple task. You cannot simply _steal _a video chip and not expect Blitzwing to notice."

"Well, if you've got better ideas, let's hear 'em!" Skywarp declared as he crossed the room. The black jet crouched low to the floor beside Ravage, patted her head, and jeered, "Here, kitty, tell us how it _should_ be done."

Ravage didn't take kindly to the patronizing speech. With a snarl, she swiped at Skywarp's face — nearly ripping out an optic — then wheeled to glare at Thundercracker and Rumble. "I can steal the video chip — that's easy. But it needs to be _replaced_ with something."

Well, that made sense. Thundercracker glanced down to Rumble, then to Skywarp — who was straightening himself out — then back to Ravage. "So, what, do we need a decoy video chip? I've got plenty of blank ones."

Rumble shook his head and snickered. "Nah. You'll need more than a _blank chip_ to fool Blitzwing."

Thundercracker didn't like where this solution was headed, not one bit. "What does he mean, Ravage?"

"You'll need to substitute it with a film of similar length," the panther cassette replied. "Not necessarily a deactivation holovid, or even pornography — but the closer in content and file size, the better."

"Does it have to be original material?" Skywarp asked.

Ravage nodded. "Existing videos contain metadata that can be detected without viewing the content — in short, the metadata contains a script that will let Blitzwing know if the video has already been —"

"Cut it with the tech talk," Thundercracker snapped. "It's gotta be a new video, I get it. And it should _probably_ be pornography." This was becoming far more complicated than he'd ever imagined — for Pit's sake, how had the simple filming of a slagging _holovid_ brought them to this point? For what was probably the hundredth time, Thundercracker mentally punched himself for deciding to return the body of Sunstreaker. "Frag it. We're running out of time. Any volunteers?"

Predictably, there was silence.

Thundercracker cast a sidelong glance to Rumble. "You said you wanted in on this, pipsqueak."

The blue cassette scowled. "You've gotta be _kidding _me!"

"Not an exhibitionist, eh?" Skywarp laughed.

"No! Don't even _think _about it!"

And then Ravage spoke up. "Rumble, go get the boss's mics and cameras. I've got an idea."

* * *

"So — great, it'll be like a home video, then. _No._"

"Hear me out, Thundercracker," Ravage hissed. "It will look like an honest mistake, or a technical glitch. It'll be a video not intended for public viewing. Blitzwing will still get his pornography in the end, but — _ideally_ — he'll find out a little too late that it's not the video he _thought_ it was. Thankfully for him — and for _you_ — he'll still get credits out of the deal."

Rumble glanced up from his assembly of the recording equipment. "Yeah, but who wants to see _them_ bumpin' uglies?"

"Quite a few, I'll have you know," Skywarp growled. "I'm in, if only to bail your stupid, sorry aft out of this, TC."

Thundercracker frowned, realizing he no longer had a say in the matter, and then he began to pace. Rumble was already setting up the sixth and final camera, and soon he would move on to the microphones. The blue jet cringed, displeased by the entire situation.

Out of the blue, he received a private radio message.

**_Status report, asshole._**

Thundercracker sighed, then excused himself from the room. Thankfully, the corridor was deserted, and he responded, **_We're just about to set our plan into motion._**

**_Good_****, **was Sideswipe's reply. **_I'd hate to see you fail. Explaining to Prime why I was ripping out your interface cabling during our next battle is a conversation I'd rather not have._**

The Decepticon chose not to answer. He terminated the message then returned to his quarters, only to find Rumble conducting a mic-check with Skywarp. Ravage was inspecting the cameras, and she seemed pleased by their positioning. "Did the Autobot comm you?"

Thundercracker nodded. "He'll kill me — or worse — if we don't succeed."

"You in, then?" Skywarp asked from the floor.

The blue jet dreaded his own reply. He bit back his hatred for himself and the situation he'd gotten them all into, and grumbled, "Yes."

"Excellent," said Rumble. "Let's get this show on the road!"

* * *

Never in his wildest dreams had Thundercracker thought he'd have to perform explicit acts before an audience. He'd argued against it, of course: Rumble and Ravage would have to go. Simply put, there was no way in the _Pit_ that he'd screw his wingmate in front of Soundwave's cassettes — but Ravage held her ground. Rumble was required to work the camera equipment, she explained, and she would stand guard. Besides, the panther cassette added, she considered a front-row seat ample payment for her involvement in this whole clusterfrag of a situation.

Thundercracker didn't want to think too hard about it. And, really, now he couldn't, because he was supine on the deck, legs spread, and Skywarp was towering above him, a horrible, perverted grin on his faceplates. "I am gonna _fuck_ you through the floor."

Mentally, the blue jet grimaced at his wingmate's dirty talk. All Thundercracker could hope for was that things wouldn't get _too _embarrassing. _It's time to put on a show_, he told himself, and as Skywarp kneeled and hoisted Thundercracker's legs skyward, he forced what he hoped sounded like an aroused moan.

Skywarp was used to this kind of slag — the Sunstreaker snuff film aside, he'd _apparently_ been in a handful of other videos of pornographic nature — and he took the lead. Thundercracker noted, with a tinge of worry, that his wingmate seemed entirely overzealous about the whole affair. Perhaps the fact they had an audience was getting him off, a thought which was decidedly disturbing.

"Open up."

Skywarp's hissed command brought Thundercracker back into the present. Purple digits danced across white pelvic armor, wandering roughly into seams, tracing circles on port covers. This time, Thundercracker moaned in earnest, deciding to completely _forget _the six camera lenses — and two pairs of optics — that were trained his way. Interface port covers slid aside, all three of them; Skywarp claimed the blue jet's mouth in a deep, violent kiss.

Thundercracker returned the gesture with equal ferocity, hands scrabbling at his wingmate's shoulder vents, pulling Skywarp further into him. The blue jet could feel the other playing with his interface ports, digits probing them, and Thundercracker whimpered with want for more. His partner didn't hesitate. Skywarp brought his own hand to his mouth, licked his fingers, then plunged three of them deep into his trinemate. Thundercracker — who always prided himself in being so stoic, so _sober_ — howled.

"You like that, don't ya, you second-rate Kaon _pleasure drone?_"

Thundercracker was too far gone to be embarrassed by his trinemate's words. A charge was beginning to form in his systems — his spark was skipping — his vents hummed loudly. _Control yourself. You gotta make this last. _Skywarp flared his energy field, then withdrew his digits from Thundercracker's pelvic housing — before pulling his wingmate up, flipping him over, and slamming him face-down into the floor.

The blue jet grunted, pain and pleasure prickling his systems. His body was still agonizingly sore from his run-in with Sideswipe — and now Skywarp was pulling on his already-dented wings, and Thundercracker _screamed_. The sound only seemed to please his partner further. "Get your aft in the air," was Skywarp's hissed command.

A hesitation. Thundercracker knew where this was headed: it was well on its way to becoming a horribly painful, ridiculously rough interface. Why not go the extra mile, then, and make it something Decepticon audiences would _truly _enjoy? Encounters of dubious consent had always been a hot sell back on Cybertron — and Thundercracker knew, then, that it was the route to go. "_Make me_," he growled in reply, much to his wingmate's surprise — and delight.

Skywarp didn't respond, at least not verbally. He slammed Thundercracker's head down to the floor — _Primus_, did that hurt — and then the blue jet, his processor still swimming, felt his aft pulled up into the air. It was an incredibly vulnerable position, and Thundercracker, still vaguely aware of the recording being made, could only imagine the camera lenses trained on his exposed interface paneling.

It was a fleeting thought: Thundercracker felt Skywarp's bulk behind him, grinding against his aft and open ports. It hurt, and Thundercracker, face still pressed into the floor, moaned in pain.

"You're gonna take it in all three, whorebot."

_That _was unprecedented. Without delay, Thundercracker booted up several firewalls to act as a surge protector — without them, he knew, the force of such a high-energy exchange would certainly offline his systems. And Skywarp wasted no time: the blue jet felt an interface cable plugged into one port — then another — then the last. With each connection came an exponential increase of data and _raw energy_, and Primus, did it feel horrible and wonderful, all at once.

Pulse after pulse of electric power surged from Skywarp. The energy slammed Thundercracker's motor relays, forcing his legs to quiver and misfire; it reached his spark, making it throb and spasm wildly beneath his cockpit. And the _data_ that was carried through the interface connection — it was a mixture of lust and of hatred, all streaming from Skywarp. It manifested itself as a _presence _within Thundercracker's being; it berated the blue jet for being such a fragging sympathetic _aft_ — it hissed dirty, perverse, unrepeatable things — it was violent and tender and angry and placid all at once —

And then Skywarp whispered against the Thundercracker's audial, "Gonna rape that pretty little spark of yours."

* * *

"And that's a wrap! Good thing, 'cause I've got — uh, _stuff_ to attend to."

"Oh no you don't, Rumble. _You _need to get the cameras packed up!"

"You're a real fraggin' _jerk_, Ravage —"

Thundercracker onlined to the din of an argument between Soundwave's cassettes. He soon became very aware of the pain that was throbbing in his wings and _especially _in his back — not to mention the dull ache pounding his head, as well. Finally, his optics flickered back on, and the blue jet was dismayed to see he was still face-down on the floor. Thundercracker groaned.

"H-e-e-e-y! Welcome back, TC!" The overly-jubilant voice belonged to Skywarp. Thundercracker groaned again as he pushed himself up into a seated position. His purple and black wingmate stood over him, hands on his hips, looking far too pleased with himself. "Nice cruddy surge protectors you set up."

"_Wha_ — oh." And then Thundercracker remembered the series of events that had led up to this point, and he grimaced. "How long've I been out?"

"Eh, half a cycle, tops," Skywarp said with a shrug. "Ravage is already starting to edit the videos — on your computer, of course."

Thundercracker didn't find himself willing to care. "I feel — I feel like _slag_, Skywarp. What did you _do _to me? Why did I offline?"

"You don't remember?"

"Would I be _asking _if I did?" Thundercracker snarled in reply. "My back hurts. You're _grinning_. What — did — you — _do?_"

Skywarp held out his hand, helping Thundercracker to his feet. "Just a little bit of sparkplay. No big deal."

"— through my _back?_"

"Maybe."

"I am going to _kill _you!" Luckily for his trinemate, Thundercracker was still unsteady. He swayed, halted his advance, and glowered at Skywarp. "I have to be flight-ready _ASAP_, and you go and —"

"Don't worry," the black jet purred. "I'll fix you up. Take a seat, let me find a repair kit, and then I can fill you in on everything."

And so he sat. It became clear that Thundercracker's wingmate had all but _torn _his back open to access his spark from behind, and _Pit_ did it burn. It was far from life-threatening, of course, but the blue jet was thankful that he couldn't see the damage. To distract himself from the searing pain, he glanced uneasily to Rumble and Ravage. Both cassettes were now stationed in front of Thundercracker's computer, making the necessary edits to the videos before compiling them into a single file. He was disturbed to hear that, between hissed instructions to her brother, Ravage was _purring_.

Thundercracker sighed. He knew he should feel considerably more appalled about the whole situation — about doing whatever the frag he had done with Skywarp in front of Soundwave's Pit-spawned _cassettes_ — about the inevitable swap of video files, if Blitzwing hadn't already _distributed_ the original film — about reconvening with the very-irate and seemingly-unbalanced Sideswipe. But he _hurt_, and he'd done far too much in the last megacycle and he just wanted to go into _recharge_. The time Thundercracker had spent offline, on the floor, had done little to refresh his systems.

Skywarp returned, dragging behind him a cart full of tools and other repair paraphernalia. "So, what's gonna happen when _Sideswipe_ has the holovid, huh?"

"What do you mean?"

A shrug. "Don't you think he'll show the rest of the Autobots? And don't you think they'll _retaliate?_"

Thundercracker shook his aching head. "I've got a hunch that it'll be an internal affair, handled strictly by _Sideswipe._"

"Huh."

"He's not all-there," the blue jet elaborated, "not anymore, at least. I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say that _killing his spark-twin_ has something to do with it."

"Yeah, well, I don't think _you're _all-there, either," Skywarp grumbled.

"Just get me fixed. We can discuss _sanity _and which of us has more of it later."

Skywarp nodded and went to work; the black jet was not a skilled medic, but he'd helped mend Thundercracker and Starscream a countless number of times — whether it was after a regretful battle or following a rough interface. Skywarp wasn't precise, nor was he gentle, but Thundercracker no longer cared.

He just wanted everything to be _over_.

* * *

Barely nanokliks after the film was compiled, Stage Two of the video chip heist went into effect.

"According to this megacycle's work schedule, Blitzwing is currently on air patrol duty with Astrotrain," Ravage explained in a hiss, "and he will be occupied with that for the next five-plus cycles. This gives us _more _than enough time to make the switch and get that video _out_ of here."

Thundercracker, freshly-repaired but still very sore, considered this information. "Alright. When will you _have _the stolen film? How long will that take?"

"Give me thirty kliks," the panther cassette replied. "I possess every access code imaginable onboard the _Nemesis_."

Skywarp frowned in disgust. "How the frag did _that _happen?"

"I know nearly everything _Soundwave_ knows," she purred. "And that's all _you _get to know."

Thundercracker, though, found the time estimate sufficient. "I'm going to contact Sideswipe. Rumble, help Ravage get ready to execute the swap."

"Sure thing!"

The blue jet found the Autobot's frequency, then sent a short message: **_One point five cycles. _**

Sideswipe's angry response was nearly immediate. **_Do you really think I can get out there _****that****_ fast?!_**

**_Nope, _**was Thundercracker's taunting reply. **_So you'd better get moving, groundpounder._**

**_I'll get there when I get there! _**Sideswipe snarled. **_Come alone._**

**_Don't worry._**And then Thundercracker cut the transmission. Truth be told, he was surprised that the Autobot had left the Olympic Peninsula in the first place — _if _he had left. How much time had passed since their original meeting? Thundercracker knew that Sideswipe did possess some sort of rudimentary, short-distance flight capabilities — that would explain the ambush on the precipice — but there was no way Sideswipe could have brought Sunstreaker back to the _Ark_, flying _or _driving.

It was troublesome, but Thundercracker decided he really couldn't worry about it any further.

"You look preoccupied."

Thundercracker glanced up to his wingmate. "I am. Just hoping this all works out."

Skywarp shrugged. "It will. Once Ravage comes back with that video chip, I'll teleport you outta here. Just don't _hang around_ this time, huh?"

"I'll make it a point not to." Thundercracker glanced over to the cassettes. "Rumble?"

"We're good to go," was the reply. "Ravage has a surveillance camera that she'll switch on when she leaves. The signal is synched to your computer, so we'll be able watch her brilliance _in action_."

"Sounds good," said the blue jet. "Anything else, Ravage?"

"Negative," the panther cassette replied. A small camera lens emerged from the top of her head; she took the video chip carefully into her jaws, then said, "I'll return in less than thirty kliks." And with that, Ravage whisked away.

As soon as she left, the video feed switched on. Thundercracker eased himself off his berth to join Rumble and Skywarp in front of the monitor, and from the looks of it, Ravage was using the main corridor for her path — so far. It was strange to see the passageways of the _Nemesis_ from such a low vantage point; Ravage kept to the shadows, slinking her way along the walls, her movement quick and confident. Thundercracker found himself impressed.

At a junction between corridors, the camera took an abrupt left turn — and then descended into darkness. Ravage had entered a floor-level ventilation shaft.

Skywarp whistled in approval. "She's good."

"No kiddin'," said Rumble. "When it comes to this kinda thing, she's the best."

Ravage continued; the grainy video was deathly black, but it was accompanied by sound: silence save for the _tap tap tap _of the cassette's metal paws along the duct. Thundercracker finally felt his confidence in the whole situation start to grow, and he cycled a short sigh of relief. _It's going to be okay._

* * *

_Author's Note: _To be continued… Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer_: The Transformers franchise is the property of Hasbro/Takara.

_Warnings_: Snuff film ahoy!

_Author's Note_: This is chapter four of five. Once again, a big thanks to those who have sent reviews and/or added this story to their favorites!

* * *

"And here it is. _Don't lose it_."

Thundercracker stooped to accept the stolen video chip from Ravage. Despite its tiny size and negligible weight, it seemed immeasurably heavy in the blue jet's hand. _All this fragging trouble over a stupid, Pit-spawned holofilm._ Thundercracker straightened himself up, then nodded to the cassette. "Thanks, Ravage. You're a pro."

"Of course I am," the smaller 'con purred. "Twenty-five kliks. Not bad. As you saw from the feed, no complications. Everything is good to go."

"I'll repay you further when I get the chance." Thundercracker turned to Skywarp and Rumble, who had been engaged in an apparently-important conversation, the topic of which the blue jet didn't want to know. "Okay, 'Warp. Get me out of here."

"With pleasure."

* * *

Thundercracker shot across the ocean, the spray of the waves scraping his still-sore fuselage. The scour of the brine hurt, but the blue jet also felt strangely liberated — this nightmare was almost over, _finally_, and soon he would be headed back to the _Nemesis_ to spend the next several cycles in deep recharge. He hurdled toward the coast of the continent, the forested foothills and bald, rocky mountains of Washington's Olympic Peninsula growing ever nearer. As he approached, Thundercracker didn't even bother to engage his silencers; his altitude climbed, and soon he was five kilometers above the mountaintops and there, below, was his coordinate set.

_Let's do this _right_ this time._

* * *

A cycle passed, then two. Unsurprisingly, Sideswipe was running late. There was no sign of Sunstreaker's body — _somehow_, the fallen Autobot had been moved, and Thundercracker guessed that an Aerialbot, or perhaps even _Skyfire_ had been roped into transporting it. Once again, the blue jet's landing had been awkward and noisy, and in doing so, he had scared away every sign of animal life, likely within an eighty-kilometer radius. With the exception of the river, the valley was deathly silent; there was no point in hiding this time, and so Thundercracker paced, keeping a wary optic pointed toward the treeline.

A faint signal pinged on the Decepticon's radar — it was Sideswipe's energy signature, but he was still a good distance away, and Thundercracker cursed. There was another set of signals that the blue jet was tracking, as well — those belonging to Blitzwing and Astrotrain. The triplechangers, still patrolling the skies, were hundreds and hundreds of kilometers west of his current location, but that could change in only a matter of kliks, at any given time — and it made the seeker restless and nervous.

_Hurry the frag up_, Thundercracker thought, and he resumed his pacing. _Stop worrying. Everything will be okay._

Another cycle passed. Birdsong slowly returned to the valley — and then, abruptly, it ceased. The roar of a now-familiar engine was approaching, growing ever louder, and Thundercracker felt dread swell up within his spark. The Decepticon turned his optics back to the treeline across the river; it was eerily still. A klik went by, and then, emerging from the dappled browns and greens was a smear of bright red — the Lamborghini Countach was so very out of place — and Sideswipe transformed as soon as he was clear of the forest underbrush.

Thundercracker stood, rooted to the spot, as the Autobot began to close the three-hundred meter distance between them. As he crossed the churning river, Sideswipe still had not drawn his weapon — which was a surprise — but Thundercracker then realized, with mounting fear, that he _himself_ was unarmed. He'd never retrieved his armaments after their last meeting, and only the _Pit_ knew where they'd ended up. This whole affair was going sour already, and they'd had yet to exchange a word!

Sideswipe drew nearer, and Thundercracker attempted to appear bored. "You made it in record time," the Decepticon deadpanned.

The red Autobot frowned and ignored the underhanded compliment. "Do you _have _it?"

Thundercracker nodded, then pulled the video chip from subspace. "Right here." Sideswipe reached for the precious stolen film, but the blue jet retracted his hand. "Just one klik. When I give this to you, our quarrel is done. You will not contact me. You will not _touch_ me. We'll never see each other again, outside of battle. Understand?"

Sideswipe seemed to consider the terms. "Sure," he said, then promptly added, "Follow me."

"Wha — _what?_"

"Follow me," the Autobot repeated, and he began to turn away.

"But — don't you _want _this?"

"I sure do," Sideswipe replied, smiling grimly. "All in good time. Let's take a walk."

Reluctantly, and against his very best judgment, Thundercracker followed. Why was he agreeing to _do _this — whatever _it_ was? For some time, they trekked in silence, footfalls loud as they followed the path of the river. They were headed upstream, Thundercracker noted; further into the valley they trudged, green-carpeted mountainsides sloping down to meet them, closing in around them. It made Thundercracker uneasy. Four kilometers later, he asked, "Where are we going?"

Sideswipe didn't immediately reply. The Autobot seemed to relish the blue jet's discomfort, and finally, a klik later, he said, "You'll see."

_That _certainly didn't help. Thundercracker _knew _that he should just drop the video chip, _right then and there_, and take to the sky. He'd be free of this whole slagging ordeal, and it would just be yet another unpleasant memory cached in the depths of his processor.

But Thundercracker was also a curious Decepticon. He'd let that curiosity get the best of him several times in the last megacycle, and once again, it seemed to be winning over his common sense. And so he followed the red Autobot deeper into the mountain valley, the Earth's sun sliding lower into the sky.

* * *

"And now, _Decepticon_, we will enjoy a private screening."

"_What?_"

"You heard me."

Sideswipe had led Thundercracker to an old bunker, carved long ago into the steep wall of a rocky mountainside. It was the work of neither Autobot nor Decepticon forces; the hideaway had been chiseled there, many decades before, by human hands — for Pit _knows_ what, but likely during one of their tiny, pathetic wars. By all outward appearances, it had been forgotten for quite some time: vegetation had crept about its vast opening, slowly disguising it from prying human eyes.

And now Thundercracker was _inside _the bunker, and it was plain as day that it was _no_ _longer forgotten_. "What is this place?" the Decepticon asked, deciding, for a moment, to delay whatever it was that Sideswipe had planned.

The red Autobot switched on a set of light panels, and after a flicker, they cast their cold, dim glow against the cavernous interior of the shelter. "Nice, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but what _is _it?"

Sideswipe booted up several monitors — all Cybertronian technology — that were affixed to a broad, rocky wall. "It's a _Cold War_-era bunker. Human bullshit, I don't know. It was abandoned. Me and Sunstreaker found it some time ago, and we fixed it up."

"Does anyone else _know _about it?"

Thundercracker's inquiry was met with a slag-eating grin. "What do _you _think?"

"You're a horrible Autobot."

"_Me?_" Sideswipe asked, voice filled with false offense. "_He_ was _far _worse!" And with those words, the red Autobot flung a digit to the far corner of the shallow bunker — and there, slumped in the shadows, was the familiar carcass of his deactivated brother. "Blame it on _him_."

Thundercracker started, not able to tear his optics from the dead Autobot. "Why is he still here? Why didn't you take him back to —"

"What do _you _care?" Sideswipe snarled. "We've been on an _extended patrol duty _for the last five megacycles, and are scheduled to _remain_ on it for the next six! _Your lot_ took him prisoner shortly after we left, and _no one_ onboard the _Ark _knows he was captured and deactivated, except for me. As far as Prime and Prowl are concerned, everything is _a-okay_."

"Why didn't you report _back _to them?!"

"You sound like you _want _more trouble," Sideswipe hissed. "Is that it? Is that what you _want_?"

"No, I just — "

"They don't need to know. I can take care of myself."

The blue jet scowled. It was quite clear that the Autobot wasn't _nearly _sane, and it was a fact that was beginning to increasingly disturb him. "Look, that's nice and all, but why don't you just take the fragging video chip and —"

"Nope," said Sideswipe. He turned to a small control console near the wall of monitors, then keyed in some sort of code — and with a horrible, grating groan, a heavy, metal door began to slide down over the mouth of the bunker. The sunlight streaming in from outside shrunk to nothing as the entrance slammed shut, and the Autobot faced Thundercracker once more. "Like I said, we're going to have a _private screening_."

Thundercracker didn't like the sound of that _at all_. He had lost control of the situation long ago, and now, he knew, he had to face the consequences — whatever those might be. At this point, he no longer felt compelled to care. "Do you — do you have the proper input for it? It's a _holofilm_, after all."

Sideswipe shook his head. "Nope, not here. This is strictly a _two-dimensional _setup only. How may cameras did it take? Four?"

"Six."

"Then we'll just have to splice it up onto six monitors."

The Decepticon frowned, and for a while, he watched in silence as Sideswipe continued to fire up the screens. "Why are you doing this?"

"For a couple of reasons," the Autobot replied, now fussing with a set of large speakers. "First, so I know you aren't full of shit. If that's a blank video chip in your hand, you're as good as dead."

"It's not!" Thundercracker responded, sounding too defensive for his own tastes. But why _shouldn't _be indignant? He'd already done _far too much_ to acquire the film, and to imply otherwise was insulting.

"Can't be too sure," said Sideswipe shortly. "And, secondly, so you can _see_ what you've done."

"But I didn't —"

"Whatever. Give me the video chip."

Thundercracker hesitated, cycled a sigh, then handed over the source of _all his fragging problems for the last fragging megacycle_. It should have been a weight off his wings, but it wasn't — not while he was still stuck in this bunker, with an Autobot whose processor was only half-there. "That's it," Thundercracker said rather unnecessarily. "That's the only copy."

"Good." Sideswipe examined the tiny video chip, then stuck it into an input slot. A menu appeared on the monitors — the entire wall of them — and the Autobot began to scroll through the display options, finally settling on one that would render the three-dimensional film into six different, two-dimensional views. "You weren't kidding. This is pretty fucking professional."

"Only the best from the Decepticon ranks," Thundercracker grumbled. "We have too much time on our hands."

"_Obviously_." Sideswipe gave the blue jet a dark, unreadable look, then kicked a large utility crate his way. "Sit down."

Thundercracker didn't hesitate — but he watched, with horror, as the red Autobot marched away from the monitors — only to return carrying his deactivated brother. Sunstreaker's battered body was set beside the Decepticon; his optics dark, mouth agape, pelvic housing destroyed. Thundercracker fought the sudden impulse to purge his fuel tank. "Why?"

"For company," said Sideswipe, and he dragged another heavy crate over, taking a seat on the other side of the jet. He'd also retrieved a remote; Sideswipe lifted it and hit _play_.

And then the film started, displayed before them on six vast, widescreen monitors, and all Thundercracker wanted was to crawl further into the shadows of the bunker and just _die_.

* * *

Though he had filmed the entire thing, watching the video was a decidedly different experience. If it weren't for the corpse of Sunstreaker beside him, Thundercracker would have almost thought it to all be a hoax — a bad dream, recorded and fabricated — but it _was _real, and it was horrible.

Thundercracker watched in sixfold as Sunstreaker was hauled to his feet, manhandled by the much-larger Blitzwing. From where he had sat when first recording the action, he hadn't heard much beyond shouted expletives and the grinding and scraping of armor. But now, nothing was left to the imagination — the sensitive microphones had been set up inside the cell — and Thundercracker could hear the terrified heaving and wheezing of Sunstreaker's systems, as well as the familiar aroused hum of Skywarp's vents.

The Decepticon cast a furtive glance to Sideswipe. The red Autobot hadn't spoken a word since the film had started, and now he stared at the six monitors, his mouth a thin line, arms crossed, fingers drumming impatiently. "_Let's see how good you are, groundpounder._" Onscreen, Skywarp forced Sunstreaker into a kiss and was promptly bitten; beside Thundercracker, Sideswipe's fans kicked on.

_Oh, Primus_, the blue jet thought. He wasn't sure if the 'bot sitting next to him was enraged or aroused or both, and the film had only just begun. How would Sideswipe react as the video progressed, and the savagery escalated? Thundercracker's recollection of this particular stage of the filming was murky, and what unfolded next seemed to be entirely new. Onscreen, Blitzwing ravaged the prisoner's neck cables, digits forced harshly into armor plating as his restraint tightened; Skywarp pressed himself against the Autobot, cockpit canopy crushed against the yellow chassis.

_"Aren't you gonna scream for help, you little Autobot whore? Don't tell me you _like _this!_"

Thundercracker cringed, hoping that Sideswipe could feel the shame and _distaste_ that was radiating in _waves _off his frame. But the red Autobot looked as stoic as ever, gaze not leaving the film, optics flicking from one screen to the next. Thundercracker glanced back to the monitors, just on schedule to see Blitzwing cuff Sunstreaker once, twice, a _third time_ — and that's when Sunstreaker screamed his vocalizer back into operation. It was a horrible, pained sound, one that sent mechanical shivers racing up and down Thundercracker's struts.

Sunstreaker, just like his brother, had preferred Earth expletives. "_Fuck off, you cock-sucking pieces of shit! Get your filthy fucking hands off me! Let — me — go! Get the fuck —_" The Autobot's tirade was cut short as he was slammed, face-first, to the floor of the cell. Thundercracker winced at the grinding of metal and shattering of glass, and again, as he was flipped onto his back, Sunstreaker screamed.

Now, the Decepticon knew, came the nastiest part of the film — there was no turning back, no point of return. He wanted to recede into the shadows, switch off his optics and audials, and never reemerge. And yet, like a train wreck, Thundercracker could not tear his gaze away from the display: Blitzwing hoisted the prisoner's legs into the air, kneeling between them, red visor looking downright _predatory _in the gloom of the cell. Sunstreaker bucked and thrashed and kicked, a foot nearly colliding with the triplechanger's head before he was properly restrained. Skywarp loomed behind the Autobot frontliner, smashing Sunstreaker's shoulders into the floor, then holding him there.

"_You're so pretty, Autobot._" The words belonged to Blitzwing, and a horribly dark smirk crept over his faceplates as he leaned forward, digits running over the prisoner's pelvic armor. Thundercracker felt his frown deepen, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. A squeal of rending armor — a hiss of pain from Sunstreaker — a deep chuckle from Skywarp.

Sideswipe stared unflinchingly at the monitors before him, expression not changing as the triplechanger began his savage violation of Sunstreaker's interface ports. One was mutilated, then the next — and then Blitzwing had the prisoner's interface cabling in his hand and with a violent yank he _ripped _it out. Thundercracker wretched, then wondered how in the _Pit_ the red Autobot could handle it — seeing his own fragging _twin _be tortured and degraded, sixfold; having the _empty hull_ of that twin only meters away. Thundercracker himself could hardly watch, and would have left long ago if he'd been able. But Sideswipe's optics were locked on the film, fans humming louder than ever, arms crossed over his chest. He almost looked bored, as if he were sitting through a dull debriefing or an anticlimactic gladiatorial match.

Thundercracker simply couldn't relate. He had no spark twin, no family. If Skywarp ever kicked the bucket, the blue jet would be upset — but his wingmate was not a _true_ brother, nor did he love him. _Why _did Sideswipe insist on watching Sunstreaker be tortured and — inevitably — murdered? Did his spark ache to see his twin's final moments? Would it somehow patch that seemingly irreparable, torn bond? More likely, though, was the fact that Sideswipe's processor wasn't all there.

Thundercracker couldn't exactly blame the Autobot for that.

Onscreen, Sunstreaker hissed with pain. His vocalizer issued hacking bursts of static — it had shorted out again, overloaded with his own screams of agony and terror. Skywarp took the lead, grabbing the prisoner and hauling him to his knees. "_Put that pretty mouth to work, Autobot_." Sunstreaker shook his head, defiant yet seized with fear. His resistance was met with a sharp cuff to the face, and one of the camera angles revealed a new fracture down the Autobot's left optic. "_Do it and you might live._"

_That _was a lie, of course. In his spark, Sunstreaker had probably known, too, but after a moment's hesitation, he shuttered his optics and leaned forward, glossa now trailing over the seams of Skywarp's pelvic armor. The black jet moaned his wingmate's name, which only furthered Thundercracker's desire to die, right then and there.

And still, Sideswipe stared. He stared as Blitzwing leaned in to capture Skywarp's mouth in a brutal kiss — he stared as his twin was knocked down to his hands and knees — he stared as the triplechanger plugged himself in to Sunstreaker's last remaining intact interface port. Skywarp knelt before the prisoner, thighs spread, holding Sunstreaker's head in place as the Autobot resumed his forced oral worship to the black jet's now-open interface panel.

_Any klik now_, Thundercracker thought, knowing exactly what would happen next. He could hear Sunstreaker's systems going into overdrive, though the sound was barely audible over the din made by his two torturers — their fans and vents were wailing; Blitzwing and Skywarp gasped and grunted as the electrical loop surged through their bodies.

Sunstreaker heaved and wheezed, vocalizer crackling back to life. He screamed and then moaned as the unwanted overload ripped at his internals, his face twisting with agony, optics flickering. Blitzwing and Skywarp were soon to follow.

When he'd initially filmed it, Thundercracker had not seen any of this happen. Now, though, it was horrifying to view, and again, he was dangerously close to purging his tanks. Unexpectedly, the Decepticon heard himself whisper, "Now, he dies."

"I know." The words were deafening.

Onscreen, the two Decepticons loomed over the convulsing, prone form of Sunstreaker. Blitzwing pulled a pistol from subspace, and Skywarp hauled the prisoner to his feet, one final time. The Autobot was pinned against the cell wall, and he thrashed, weakly, beneath the black jet's restraint. The blaster whined as it charged; the triplechanger leered. "_Let's see that pretty little spark of yours, groundpounder_." Blitzwing reached forward and seized a section of Sunstreaker's breastplate; with a horrible, grinding squeal, he pulled it free, then tossed it to the floor.

As the pale blue light of his exposed spark illuminated the cell, Sunstreaker gurgled his final word. "_No!_"

But Blitzwing only smirked, shoved the muzzle of his blaster into the Autobot's spark chamber, and pressed the firing stud.

_Zot._

Sunstreaker's body crumpled to the floor — optics dark, mouth agape, limbs twitching briefly before becoming quite still.

With no fanfare, the film abruptly ended. The six screens went black and for a klik, Thundercracker simply stared straight ahead, unwilling to face the living Autobot beside him. Save for the whirring of Sideswipe's fans, the bunker was wholly silent.

Finally, the red Autobot turned to Thundercracker. His faceplates looked haggard; his optics, tired. Sluggishly, he rose to his feet, keyed a code into a nearby control panel, and watched as the heavy metal door securing the bunker entrance slowly whined its way back open. The sun had set, and the purplish hues of the evening sky crept in to meet them. "Get the fuck out."

Thundercracker was still sitting. He glanced to the dead Autobot beside him, gaze resting on the scorched yellow chassis, and then slowly, his optics met those of Sideswipe. At last the Decepticon stood; he felt numb, so numb that the pain in his back and wings had been forgotten entirely. Thundercracker took one step toward the Autobot, then thought better of it. He glanced to the mouth of the bunker, then back to Sideswipe, then at last said, "I'm sorry."

But the blue jet didn't wait for an answer. In an instant, he engaged his thrusters, transformed in mid-air, and hurdled out into the open night sky. The bunker and the mountain and the Olympic Peninsula shrunk into the darkness behind him, and Thundercracker banked and rolled, hoping the damp evening atmosphere would cleanse the guilt and horror from his systems.

* * *

_Author's Note: _To be continued…

Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer_: The Transformers franchise is the property of Hasbro/Takara.

_Warnings_: Poor Thundercracker.

_Author's Note_: Final chapter!

* * *

**_Where the slag _****are ****_you, TC?_**

A klik of silence, then, **_Resigning to myself._**

Thundercracker didn't expect his wingmate to respond. He _knew _he needed to rest, and he _knew _he required further mending, but Thundercracker wasn't ready for it — not yet. As soon as he slipped into recharge — or, in the case of repairs, put offline — the blue jet was certain his sleeping processor would be bombarded with image after image of everything that had come to pass in the last megacycle. He wasn't so sure he could handle it.

And so Thundercracker flew. The sky was dark now, and the air was cool — but not as black or as cold as the Decepticon felt his spark to be at that very moment. He skimmed over the rolling waves of the ocean, then shot upward, nosecone facing the stars. The F-15 released three sonic booms in rapid succession, tilted his wings, and then arced back toward the continent.

Unsurprisingly, Skywarp responded; also unsurprisingly, his words were far from eloquent. **_What kind of introspective crud are you getting off on now?_**

Thundercracker heaved a sigh through his overtaxed vents, then let his altitude fall. The atmosphere rattled his ailerons and strafed his fuselage, and despite the ache in his frame and processor, it felt divine. After another klik, the blue jet radioed his wingmate back. **_Nothing. I'm fine, and I'll send you my coordinates when I'm ready._**

In reality, though Thundercracker was still dealing with his own demons surrounding his recent decisions and activities, he was still unwilling to face _Skywarp_. It had been ghastly enough when he'd first _filmed _the action, but re-watching it, in sixfold, had been exponentially worse. It made Thundercracker fear what his wingmate was capable of, and it caused him to feel increasingly uneasy about the _replacement video _they'd recorded together.

Thundercracker knew that Skywarp could be a real demonic piece of slag; in battle, he'd always fought dirty, and during interfaces, he'd always preferred things rough, on the very cusp of dubious consent — his partner's feelings be damned. Why, then, did the video disturb Thundercracker so?

His wingmate, of course, had purged it from his thoughts already — it was just another snuff film, one of several he'd partaken in, though the first since they'd left Cybertron. It was Decepticon business as usual — or, at least, _Skywarp _business as usual. Thundercracker was well aware of his trinemate's deviant nature, but never before had he witnessed it so _viscerally_.

The blue jet shot skyward, rolled, then switched off his engines. Freefall was a dangerous game, and Thundercracker relished every moment of it. The Decepticon's altitude dropped and dropped and _dropped_, and at the very last possible nanoklik, he engaged his thrusters. With a deafening roar, Thundercracker hurdled toward the stars once again.

Irritatingly, Skywarp sent yet another message. **_You didn't let him _****screw ****_you, did you?_**

An internal cringe. **_Absolutely not!_**

**_Then what _****were ****_you doing, eh, TC?_**

Another roll, another freefall, another sonic boom. **_I'll fill you in back at the _****Nemesis****_. _**In the middle of his next roll, something pinged in Thundercracker's peripheral vision; he assumed it was an alert concerning his ever-dropping energon reserves, and for a few kliks, he ignored the warning. It flashed again, and Thundercracker cursed, then read the message. _Oh no._

He'd forgotten that Blitzwing and Astrotrain were still on their shared air patrol duty — and now, the two triplechangers were showing on Thundercracker's radar, less than three hundred kilometers away! The blue jet swore again. As far as he knew, Blitzwing had no quarrel with him — yet — but Thundercracker also had a guilty conscience, not to mention he simply _did not want _to associate any further with the tank-jet. Astrotrain was a real pain in the aft, as well, and the blue jet, unarmed, had no desire to encounter the two of them, alone, at night.

The triplechangers were one-hundred sixty kilometers away and closing.

**_Change of plans. Pick me up _****now****_, 'Warp. Sending you my position._**

And Skywarp, Primus bless his spark, didn't hesitate. He didn't ask questions, demand a favor in return, or reply with some snarky retort. A klik later, the black jet was beside Thundercracker; their wings touched, and the world collapsed around them in a flash of searing violet.

* * *

"What spooked you out there?"

Thundercracker hesitated. They'd teleported back to their shared quarters, and now the blue jet was easing himself onto his berth, just wanting to slip into recharge, nightmares be damned. But Skywarp hovered beside him, and it was obvious that Thundercracker wouldn't be able to get his rest — not yet. Staring at the armored ceiling, he grumbled, "Blitzwing and Astrotrain were headed my way. They were still on patrol, I guess. Must have picked me up on their radar."

Skywarp shrugged at this new piece of information, seemingly unaffected by it. "So what? You can't hide from Blitzwing _forever_."

"Yeah, but —"

"Not to mention," Skywarp continued, "if he hasn't already, he's gonna find out, sooner or later, about the video. Maybe he won't realize we did it. Maybe he'll think it was a mistake. Either way —"

"I know, I _know_," Thundercracker growled. "They were closing in on me and I panicked. Thanks for getting us back here, anyway."

"Uh-huh." Skywarp paced, then returned to Thundercracker's side. "You were out there a long time." When the blue jet didn't respond, he drew closer and asked, "What happened?"

"I need to recharge."

"Not yet, you don't."

Thundercracker couldn't find it in him to snarl, let alone _hiss _a retort. Finally, just wanting to get the interrogation over with, he answered, "We watched the video."

"That's _it? _You watched — " The words and their meaning eventually registered in Skywarp's processor, and his questioning took a sudden turn. "You _watched _it with him? Was it _good?_"

The blue jet felt a dark expression settle over his faceplates. "Was it good for _you_, Skywarp?"

The inquiry caught the other seeker off-guard. "Was it good for — what? Sure, whatever, I don't regret it, if that's what you're askin'."

Thundercracker cringed. He wished he could roll away from his wingmate and face the wall — but his wings were pinned beneath him, and he didn't particularly want to fold them back, not when they still ached — and so he compromised as best as he could, turning his head away instead. "Yeah, well, _I _regret it."

"You _sure _you two didn't swap any paint?"

"_Positive_," Thundercracker grumbled tiredly. "He didn't lay a digit on me."

"What was it _like?_"

Skywarp's question was unexpected, and Thundercracker milled through several different responses before settling on the one most satisfactory. "To use a human phrase, 'Warp — it was pretty _fucked up_."

"Huh. Shame there aren't any other copies."

But Thundercracker didn't hear his wingmate's words — he had slipped into recharge, and with it came a thick blanket of wonderful, black nothingness.

* * *

A megacycle passed.

During that time, besides receiving much-needed rest and repair, Thundercracker shared air patrol duty with both his trinemates; not once was the snuff film mentioned. As far as _Skywarp _was concerned, what was done was done — and there was no need to dwell on it any further. But Thundercracker wasn't so sure about that. As the cycles crept by, the blue jet found himself growing increasingly worried. He should have been _forgetting _about this whole fiasco, but it was the very opposite: it was _too _quiet onboard the _Nemesis_; too calm. Something — or some_one_ — was bound to crack at a klik's notice.

There were moments when Thundercracker forgot entirely about the replacement video that he and Skywarp had filmed, and the consequences and ramifications associated with _that_. When he _did _remember, though, Thundercracker could feel his spark freeze with terror. He wasn't certain what disturbed him more — Blitzwing realizing his precious deactivation film had been swapped (unintentionally or otherwise) with a home video, or the certain backlash that would follow, when 'cons and perhaps even _'bots_ viewed it.

Thundercracker had never been an exhibitionist. There was little doubt that he would be recognized, and it was even _more _likely that he would hear about it — from those onboard the _Nemesis_, as well as others stationed back on Cybertron. It was a lose-lose situation, and Thundercracker hoped that whatever repercussions it did bring would blow over quickly.

And, speaking of needing to be _quick_, Thundercracker realized he should really _hurry up_ and get himself to the debriefing Megatron had ordered for a recently-accomplished energon raid —

"Hey, _you_. Gotta klik?"

The blue jet froze in his tracks, in the middle of the corridor. _Oh, frag._ He knew that voice — its harsh tones, deep notes — and slowly he turned to face the owner. "What can I do for you, Blitzwing?"

"I'm not sure yet," the triplechanger replied. There was a distinct, purposeful vagueness to his words that worried Thundercracker. "Has your wingmate complained to you about me yet?"

That was an odd question. "Who, Skywarp? No. Why should he?"

"Walk with me," Blitzwing said, and they resumed their path toward the conference chamber. It was a far better outcome, Thundercracker decided, than talking, stationary, in the empty hall. "The holofilm was a bust. I don't know _what _happened to it — it got, ah — glitched, I don't know. That's why I haven't _compensated _Skywarp yet, for his, uh, role in it."

"Glitched?"

"Yeah. I'm not sure _how _it happened. And _this_ is where _you _come into the picture." Quite suddenly, Blitzwing's serious scowl turned into a wolfish smirk, and it chilled Thundercracker's spark even further. "You and Skywarp do a few home movies in your free time?"

Thundercracker felt his faceplates blanch. "Uh — occasionally. Why?"

"By some grace of Primus, a cute little video of _you two_ exchanging dents turned up instead."

"_Oh_."

The tank-jet shrugged his heavily-armored shoulders. "I still don't know how it happened. And I don't particularly care."

The seeker grimaced. "That's, huh — uh, _unfortunate_."

"Maybe — and maybe not."

"What do you mean?" Thundercracker didn't like the sound of Blitzwing's words, nor what they implied.

Blitzwing paused outside the conference room — they had finally reached their destination. "I'll catch up with you again after the debriefing, and then we'll _talk_."

The meeting, Thundercracker knew, would pass both far too fast and _far too slow_.

* * *

Much to Thundercracker's annoyance, Skywarp had been right. The blue jet couldn't avoid Blitzwing _forever_, especially not on a tub like the _Nemesis_ — and soon after the debriefing had concluded, Thundercracker found himself cornered once more. His wingmate had teleported on the spot, and Thundercracker silently cursed him for it. Now was not the time to flee, however: the seeker knew that fleeing would only make him seem _more _suspicious, and that was the exact _opposite_ of what he wanted.

It was a relief, then, when it became clear Blitzwing didn't suspect him of anything — at least, not yet. "Here's the deal," explained the triplechanger, bulky arms crossed over his chestplating, "I've got a holovid of you and Skywarp doin' the nasty. I haven't _uploaded _it yet. I haven't _duplicated_ it yet. I haven't _sold _it yet."

"How kind of you."

Blitzwing snorted. "Yeah, right. Anyway, I watched it. It's good stuff. You put on a good show, even _if _it ended with you offline."

Thundercracker felt shame creep across his faceplates. "It's — I'm not at my best. Skywarp, maybe, but —"

"I thought you'd say as much. And I bet you don't _want _me to distribute it, right?"

_Oh, scrap_. Thundercracker knew the way Blitzwing's processor worked, all too well. There was going to be some sort of blackmail involved, or some sort of favor, and _damn it all to the Pit_, why had Thundercracker ever taken it upon himself to return that _accursed Autobot's _body? He chose his next words carefully. "Well — since the snuff film didn't work out — who knows why — to recoup your losses, you could always just —"

"Nope, I've got a better idea. Skywarp knows about it, too."

"What do you —"

"He's got a set of coordinates. He knows what to do. See you soon."

* * *

Thundercracker stormed back to his quarters in a fury. Skywarp was there, of course, and by the guilty look in his optics, he'd been expecting this reaction. "Cool it, TC. I don't even completely know —"

"Really, now?" Thundercracker lunged at his wingmate. "I swear to the Pit I am going to _hurt _you, and this time, you _won't _like it!"

The black jet held up his hands in a small semblance of self-defense. "Quit it! I don't know what's up, okay?"

"If it's Blitzwing, it usually means —"

"Yeah, yeah, it usually means trouble. I know." Skywarp pushed Thundercracker away. "Let's just _humor_ him, alright? I don't think he's suspicious of us. He _seriously believes_ it was a glitch that erased the snuff film and replaced it with _ours_. Let's see what's up, at least so we don't incite further suspicion."

So rarely did his wingmate speak in such a levelheaded fashion, Skywarp's words took Thundercracker by surprise. He still didn't like it. "Why do _I _have to be involved?"

"Because thanks to your _bleeding spark_ nature, TC, you're the reason _why _we're in this mess!"

The accusation was mostly true. Thundercracker paced, then threw Skywarp a dirty look. He wasn't ready to give in just yet. "Yeah, well — if you hadn't _insisted_ on joining in —"

"Looks, what's done is done. Let's just agree that we _all _screwed up. _Especially_ you."

Though it was underhanded, Skywarp wasn't usually one to make concessions. Thundercracker cycled a sigh through his vents, then demanded, "What's the coordinate set?"

"You'll know when we get there." And with that, the black jet crossed the room, seized Thundercracker by the shoulder, and engaged his teleportation device.

* * *

Even before he rebooted his optics, Thundercracker knew exactly where they had landed. It was the stale scent of the stagnant air — the echoing silence — the feeling of dread and unease that worked its way past his paint and crawled into his circuitry.

They were in the brig of the _Nemesis_.

"Get me out of here," Thundercracker growled. "Skywarp, why —"

"Let's just see what the frag he wants, alright?"

Their footsteps resounding on the metal-plated floor, the two seekers made their way down the dimly-lit corridor. The cells that lined the walls were dark and empty, and there was no sign of life until — there, at the very end of the passage, Thundercracker spotted Blitzwing. The tank-jet was alone, and he raised a hand in greeting.

"Glad you agreed to come, Thundercracker."

"I didn't have a choice."

"I know. Your wingmate can be rather _persuasive_ at times, can't he?"

"What do you want, Blitzwing?" Skywarp's usually-cool voice seemed uncharacteristically taught.

"Here's the deal, seekers. I have a video of the two of you. Thundercracker would rather I not distribute it —"

"Liar! I didn't say that!"

"— and I think that's fair enough. If it wasn't _intended _for public viewing, I can't say I would, either." Blitzwing paused, red visor glowing in the murkiness of the prison block, and then he whispered, "Luckily for both of you, a new opportunity has presented itself, and I suggest that you _both take it_."

_Oh, no._ Thundercracker felt his spark skip a pulse. Beside him, Skywarp seemed to perk up. "Spill the energon. What is it?"

"Me and Astrotrain took another prisoner on patrol duty, five cycles ago. A real looker." The triplechanger smiled cruelly. "And, well — the opportunity to make me forget you ever had that _holofilm stolen_ doesn't exactly grow on trees, does it?" For a klik, it was silent, save for the whirring of nervous fans. Skywarp didn't respond; Thundercracker _couldn't _respond. Their guilt was as plain as the Decepticon sigil on their wings, and Blitzwing nodded knowingly. "I thought so. Certain cassettes can be rather _chatty_. So here's the deal: the two of you are going to double-team the Autobot, and I am going to film it. Will it end with a deactivation? I don't know. We'll see where it leads."

And then Blitzwing stepped aside, his armored bulk no longer obscuring the last cell from their view — and there, huddled in the corner, was an all-too-familiar Autobot.

Sideswipe's optics locked with those of Thundercracker, and he grinned.

* * *

_Fin._

* * *

_Author's Note: _Thanks for reading, plus the comments and faves! Hoping to write some _More Than Meets the Eye_-continuity fics soon… seems like a fun challenge. (And if you haven't read MTMTE yet, what are waiting for?)


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